Half A Life
by Maya Tawi
Summary: In the world of Xena the Conqueror, the King of Thieves is just trying to make a living. Fate, unfortunately, has other plans.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: Tiro, Agamede, Sileia, and various other minor characters belong to me. Everyone else belongs to Renaissance Pictures and other people whose names I don't know. This story is set in the Evil Xena Alterna-Verse from the __Hercules_ episode "Armageddon Now" and is, therefore, sans Herc. The slash herein is Autolycus/Iolaus, and some f/f elements are included as well. 

The official soundtrack albums for this story include Cat Power's Moon Pix_ and Luscious Jackson's _Fever In Fever Out_._

"Half A Life" (0/11)  
by Maya Tawi 

_"The world gets old  
And I hear their lies blowing through my teeth   
And at my back I can feel you breathe   
Talk is cheap like when money talks   
And you sound too much like you've seen it all"   
-Love Spit Love, "Half A Life"_

It was his first time in Corinth since his return, and he right away knew that it was a mistake. 

There'd been a part of him, maybe, that had expected it to be a haven, expected the corruption that stretched over most of the continent not to have touched his homeland. Of course, his _actual_ homeland wasn't Corinth but nearby Thebes, where he'd been born, where, presumably, his family's farm was still; but as he had left it as soon as he was able, and hadn't been back since he was fifteen, he felt no connection to it, and rarely even thought about the place. Corinth was where he'd become a thief; it was his home. Or, at least, it had been, until ten years previous. Home was an abstract concept now, nothing that he felt applied to his own life. 

And it was as vain a hope as he'd known it would be. The Conqueror ruled here, too, and in fact old King Aeson's castle was now one of the bases of her Titanic empire, stretching from Britannia all the way to the shores of Chin. 

Somehow he couldn't muster much hometown pride over the fact. 

Even less so when he realized that _she_ was actually in town at the time. That was when he should have turned right around and left as fast as the nearest boat could ferry him. After all, she seemed to have some sort of personal grudge against him, which was curious in itself; he'd never met the woman, had never even heard of her until he'd returned the year before, and while he had committed injuries to more than a few people over the course of his life, he was pretty sure that Xena of Amphipolis was not one of them. Yet for some unfathomable reason, she had put a bounty on his head. Granted, he was curious to find out what she wanted, but not enough to stick around and find out in person. Curiosity could do much nastier things to the cat than just kill it. The Conqueror was known for several of them. 

He should have left, and he wasn't sure why he didn't, except that some... _sense_... in him told him not to. That same sense had been his voice of reason, his conscience, for lack of a less moral word, as a thief-- telling him when it was safe to take something and when to walk away, and when something big was about to happen. That sense was his safeguard. And now it told him to wait. 

So he stayed, and by evening on the third day he figured that at some point over the last ten years, his safeguard must have been broken, or maybe it was just out of practice, because by the third evening he was running for all he was worth through Corinth's main square. And judging from the enthusiasm with which the two castle guards pounded after him, he was worth quite a bit. Apparently the reward the Conqueror had laid on his head was a rather sizable one. 

And his father'd said he'd never amount to anything. 

To his dismay, his pursuers were uncharacteristically fit and agile, thus eradicating one of the main advantages thieves traditionally had over infuriated castle guards (the other one being an intelligence level somewhat above that of a fried eggplant). After a good ten minutes of chase, they showed no sign of tiring, and he couldn't help thinking that somebody just wasn't playing by the rules. 

Life, as he had learned at such an early age, really wasn't fair at all. 

He had managed to muster a small lead over them, however, and as he rounded a corner the guards temporarily disappeared from his line of sight. Then he turned another corner, and found himself in an alley. Stone walls on either side of him were streaked with mud and other less savory substances, and a third wall stood less than fifteen paces in front of him, piled high with trash and waste and rotting food. 

More precisely, he was at a dead end. 

He spun around, once, twice, looking for another way out; and then it dawned on him (and he wondered if he was really slipping that badly, to not have noticed before) that he wasn't alone in the alley. 

An old man leaned against the stone wall, his arms folded across his chest. He looked like nothing so much as a wire sculpture wrapped in old leather, with short silver hair and bright, shrewd brown eyes that were almost black. The old man wore the simple robe typical of healers and priests; it wasn't immediately apparent which category he fell into. 

The thief stared at him. "Where'd you come from?" 

The old man just raised his eyebrows. "You seem to be in a spot of trouble, friend," he remarked. 

"Friends I don't need. An escape route, I do. Is there another way out of here?" The guards were getting closer; any minute now, they'd round the corner, and any question of a secret exit would be academic. 

"If I may ask," the old man said, "why are those men after you? You don't look _that_ important." 

The thief scowled at the implied insult. "I really don't know. I mean, it's not like I stole anything. Recently. Well, from here, anyway." 

The old man just smiled at him, a beatific smile that sat oddly on his gaunt face, and said, "The grace of the good god Hermes smiles upon you." 

Priest, then. Specifically, religious nut. "Oh, that's okay," the thief said hastily, edging away. "I'm not very religious, if it's all the same to you--" 

"You don't have to be," the old priest said. "The good god Hermes--" 

"Look, cut the oracle crap, all right? I've kind of got a problem here, in case you haven't noticed--" 

The priest's smile disappeared, his expression settling into a scowl that seemed much more natural for him. "Okay, Plato, I'll put it in plain Greek for you, shall I? You're a thief, you need help, and I'll give it to you. What do you say?" 

The thief frowned. "I'd say, why would you help me?" 

"It's what I do." Then the old man smiled again. Somehow the expression was not very reassuring. "Out of the goodness of my heart." 

"Yeah, right," the thief snorted. "'Cause Hermes is _so_ known for his charity." 

The old man cocked his head to one side, looking thoughtful. After a moment, he said, "My my, it seems your friends have friends of their own. I count... five guards, at the least, about twenty seconds away. All armed." Another evil smile. "_I'd_ say you don't have much of a choice." 

The thief shot an anxious glance back over his shoulder, back towards the entrance to the alley. "All right, you can get me out of here? No lies?" 

"Not a one." 

After a brief hesitation, he said, "Okay. But--" 

He never got a chance to finish; the old man grabbed his hand and somehow, some way, opened a door in the stone wall of the alley. With one last sideways smirk, the priest ducked through the opening, towing the bewildered thief after him. 

Ten seconds later, when the guards burst onto the scene, the two men had vanished without a trace. 

End Prologue 

_Feedback Is Your Friend._


	2. Chapter 1

"Half A Life" (1/11)  
by Maya Tawi 

_"Holding on for something   
Have you ever held on?   
Holding on for someone   
Feels like holding on too long   
Have you ever held on?"   
-Cat Power_

It was a beautiful day. 

The morning air was warm but not stifling, and the sky overhead was a clear, cloudless blue. A gentle breeze blew across the square, carrying with it the scent of new flowers and ripening fruit and freshly scythed grass, and all the other things springtime was supposed to smell like. It was the kind of day when people cheerfully ignored the less attractive smells of butchered cattle and day-old fish cakes out of a general contentment to be alive. 

It was, Autolycus thought with a sigh, a rotten day to die. 

"Come on," he grumbled under his breath. "Would a few clouds be too much to ask for? Some rain, maybe, just this is--" 

A hand clipped him on the back of his head, cutting off the flow of words and causing him to stumble forward. "Shut up, thief," the guard behind him snarled. 

Autolycus straightened, wincing as the guard's spear point jabbed him in the small of his back. Beneath the shaft of the spear he rotated his wrists in their bonds, surreptitiously testing the hold. Still as tight as the last time he'd checked. "Oh, don't mind me," he said. "I'm just a bit upset about the lack of proper atmosphere. You think you can get your Conqueror there to have a word with the gods about it for me? You know, order up a thunderstorm or something? Don't worry, I'll wait." 

Another blow snapped his neck forward. Autolycus rolled his eyes Olympus-ward, then carefully schooled his features into an impassive mask and raised his head. 

"Was that a no?" 

He expected it this time, and when the heel of the guard's hand hit he went with it, absorbing the impact. The guard growled, "The Conqueror's coming. Shut up or I'll gag you." 

"You already do, my friend," Autolycus muttered, turning his head. 

"What was that?" 

"Sorry?" 

The guard's face darkened. "Don't play dumb with me." 

"You're right. Shouldn't try to fool the real thing, after all--" 

Blow number four. Autolycus winced; that spot on the back of his head was definitely starting to get a little tender. "You just watch your mouth," the guard warned. 

"And miss the gift of your witty repartee? Where's the fun in that?" Autolycus was growing unpleasantly muzzy around the head area. Maybe provoking the armed guard wasn't such a good idea after all. 

"Shut your mouth," said armed guard snapped, showing a marked lack of inclination to play along. Autolycus rolled his eyes again but finally fell silent. He had to think, and fast. Stealing from the Conqueror's treasury had seemed like such a good idea at the time; he'd been near Corinth anyway, and after all, his self-given title of King of Thieves required constant upkeep, and pulling _that_ off would have kept him undisputedly at the top for at least another few months. Not to mention earning him a much-needed vacation. And he'd have pulled it off, too, if only.... 

Well, no time for that now. The ultimate problem facing him at the moment was that the Conqueror had heard of him, and unfortunately she was a lot smarter than the average petty tyrant had been back in the day. Upon capture, after a brief but very efficient roughing up that had probably cracked a couple ribs, Autolycus had been subjected to a thorough and extremely embarrassing strip search that had served to uncover the most hidden of his secret hidden tools. He'd then been given only a pair of loose black cotton pants to wear, with no drawstring or pin to be put to any use. They didn't even give him any shoes, and his feet were, incidentally, killing him at the moment-- though, he supposed, better his feet than the Conqueror. Ha ha. 

For Zeus's sake, they'd even cut his fingernails, all the way down to the nubs. He supposed he should be grateful they hadn't shaved his head. No telling what dangerous things one could do with a single strand of hair. Honestly, some people just didn't give a fellow a fair chance. 

His bonds now weren't chains-- no locks to pick, even if he had something to pick locks with-- or even normal ropes, but ropes that had been caked onto his wrists with something that felt like tar; he couldn't manage to separate the different coils, much less undo the knot. And, strangely enough, there were no pieces of broken glass lying around for him to use to free himself. 

Sometimes it really didn't pay to have a reputation. 

Of course, he could always just make a break for it, but what with all the armed soldiers around, it would be an abortive, ultimately ill-advised run. 

No ready solution presented itself. Autolycus sighed and turned his attention back to the ropes, just as a hush descended over the crowd. A gong sounded and the procession began. 

Soldiers started to march down the stone steps above the square, led by a slim, Eastern-looking man dressed in yellow silk. The soldiers themselves wore armor with brightly colored plumes, and two shirtless men held large, identical spade-shaped purple fans crossed in front of each other. 

As Autolycus watched through narrowed eyes, the soldiers took up their positions lining the steps that led down from the high stone platform. The shirtless guys stayed at the top. 

Then they parted their fans. 

The seated Conqueror gazed out onto her world. 

Autolycus swallowed hard. So that was her. 

For a moment he just stared. He'd seen portraits, of course, and her profile was on all the coins, but it wasn't like he'd ever actually _met_ the woman, or even caught a glimpse of her in real life; as a thief, after all, he did his best to avoid authority figures. As did any good thief, if he hoped to continue being a thief in the future. And _she_ was the ultimate authority figure. 

Seeing her, now, in person, the real thing-- well, it was like the difference between a real, flawlessly cut emerald and a cheaply made paste gem; the fake barely hinted at the possibilities of the genuine article. 

Her face looked sculpted, with shadows and flat planes in all the right places, giving her a dark, exotic look. Her full, painted lips were set in a knowing smirk; a thick fringe of black hair framed her face. She wore a winged gold headdress and a black and gold patterned robe, and even from his spot in the crowd Autolycus could see that her eyes were the palest, iciest blue. As hard and cold as steel, yet with a certain unholy light, they swept over the crowd, seeming to settling on him for a brief moment. He shivered. 

I think I'm in love, he thought. No, wait, I think I'm fucking terrified. 

Xena the Conqueror was beautiful, and alluring, and frightening as Tartarus. 

He snuck a sideways glance at his personal escort. For all the reaction he displayed, the guard could have been made of stone. 

Autolycus started working at his bonds in earnest, only now starting to truly panic. Before, he'd been sure that he'd get out of this particular mess one way or another; now, under the cold regard of the Conqueror, that possibility was seeming more and more remote with every passing second. 

Don't think that, he chided himself. You're the King of Thieves, after all, you can _do_ this-- 

"Bring out the prisoner!" one of the soldiers bellowed. 

Autolycus jumped, and might have whimpered a little, except of course that would have been utterly undignified. Then again, he was a little too preoccupied at the moment with the prospect of impending execution to worry too much about silly things like dignity. 

Beside him, the guard chuckled. "Don't worry, they don't mean you." He paused. "Yet." 

"So glad my predicament amuses you," Autolycus muttered, thinking, Great. Just my luck, I get the guy who really _likes_ his job. 

Then someone was pushed out of a tunnel in the opposite wall, and he felt his stomach drop through his bare feet. 

Look out for numeral one, and let the rest of the world do the same; it was Autolycus's philosophy of life, always had been, ever since the day over twenty years ago when he'd walked into his house in Scyros and found his brother lying dead on the floor. Ever since he'd learned, all in one numbingly terrifying instant, that no one else was looking out for him, and if he were to leave things to the gods, he may as well throw himself off a cliff and save them the trouble. He'd have better luck investing in the Athens Lottery. The world was too indifferent to waste time with responsibility for anyone but himself. 

So he wasn't sure why, when he got a good look at the peasant girl in the middle of the square and realized that he recognized her, it affected him the way it did. She wasn't exactly an innocent, after all. He did have more pressing issues to deal with at the moment. It wasn't as though the Conqueror hadn't already killed a thousand girls like her, and would undoubtedly kill a thousand more. 

If the kid couldn't manage to save herself, that was just survival of the fittest, wasn't it? It wasn't his problem. 

And he told himself that like he had so many times before, every time some unsuspecting stranger got caught up in whatever his latest plot may have been. And he couldn't bring himself to believe it. Not the same way he had before. 

For some reason, that fact was even more frightening than the drama unfolding in front of him. 

He watched with distant, growing horror as the prisoner was thrown to the ground in front of the steps. She landed on her hands and knees with a grunt. She was dressed in dull, faded peasant clothes; her long hair straggled over her face. 

The Conqueror spoke, and a chill ripped down Autolycus's spine. "What is her crime?" 

The girl glared up through her hair. Her upper lip curled. "I spoke," she said, her voice low with contempt. 

"She incited the people against you," one of the soldiers offered. "Encouraged them to revolt." 

Oh, she did a bit more than that, Autolycus thought. He wasn't surprised. World domination was, after all, just a very bloody game of public relations. The Conqueror would spin the truth whichever way would serve her purpose. 

A small, enigmatic smile curved the Xena's dark lips as she glanced at the soldier. Then she turned back to the prisoner, who was struggling to stand. The Conqueror rose and started down the steps; she wore a long, cape-like thing that trailed after her, and Autolycus lowered his eyebrows, thinking for a moment that the thing was going to get damned dirty if someone didn't hold it up behind her. 

Focus, he told himself. This wasn't the time to ponder the Conqueror's fashion choices. 

The prisoner managed to rise to her feet just as the Conqueror reached the bottom of the steps. She had a small cut on her face, by her left eyebrow, and Autolycus gritted his teeth. She couldn't have been much more than eighteen. Still a kid. 

Like the Fates gave a flying hydra about shit like that. 

The Conqueror grabbed the girl's hair, yanking her head up. Her hand drifted down the kid's face, brushing roughly at the corner of her mouth; when she spoke, it was with that faint smile still on her face. 

"Are you guilty?" she purred. 

Come on, kid, Autolycus thought, tell 'em what you really did. Go out with one last _up yours_, 'cause either way, this is the end of the chariot ride. 

The prisoner yanked her head away. "I gave voice to the people," she said angrily, as the Conqueror listened with an expression of mock pity. "The fearful, starving-- the ones who disappeared in the night, never to be seen again!" 

Damn. 

The kid doesn't deserve this, Autolycus thought. She wasn't even in it for profit. She was just trying to be a hero, that's all. Just trying to save the world. 

Which was a stupid idea. That was what got you into trouble, the hero business. Thinking you could change the world and somehow make things right. Thinking you could look out for everyone else if you just tried hard enough. In the end, it would never pay. 

The girl turned to face the assembled crowd, and for a brief, nauseating moment Autolycus thought she was staring at him. But her eyes swept right over where he was standing; she seemed not to see him, or at least not to recognize him. 

"Have you no dignity?" she yelled instead at the crowd in general, her voice breaking a little. "No rights? A right to live, to be free from harm!" 

Nobody answered. 

Behind her, the Conqueror said softly, "I guess they don't hear your voice." 

The prisoner turned back to her. "I'm not the only one," she said, shaking her head with a grim smile. "You can't break our spirit." 

The crowd, Autolycus thought, would beg to differ. Probably with their last choking breath. He shook his head, thinking about when people actually about what happened to them. Now they were like whipped sheep, all of them. 

It occurred to him then that the sheep were the ones standing free in the crowd and he was the captive slated for execution, and he realized that maybe the citizens of Corinth had the right idea after all. 

The Conqueror's voice was almost compassionate. Almost. "The cure for spirit is fear. You'll serve as an example." 

Then she glanced to the side, and her expression became one of unholy glee behind the ice queen mask she wore like armor. "Put her on the cross." 

Two soldiers grabbed the girl, who kicked as they lifted her off the ground. She didn't cry out. The soldiers carried her backwards, to where a large wooden cross waited, lying almost horizontal. As her hands were strapped to the crossbars, she looked around wildly, looking for some sort of salvation, but she did it without making a sound. She refused to beg. 

Autolycus felt sick. He couldn't look away. 

The Conqueror turned. She paused, glancing over her shoulder, with her eyebrows raised and her lips slightly pursed. 

"Break her legs," she said. 

She walked back up the steps. The prisoner stared wordlessly after her, looking almost like she'd seen a ghost. 

Then a large, towering soldier stepped up to the kid's side and, in a movement almost too quick to follow, raised an oversized hammer in the air and brought it down on her shins. 

The girl threw back her head and screamed, and it sounded like the death shriek of the first human being to ever die-- tortured, disbelieving, and beneath it all, the cry of a young girl begging the gods for salvation. 

Autolycus stared, frozen in place, practically numb. His insides felt like a knot of twisted, tangled guts. I'm going to puke, he thought dazedly, right here, right now, oh they'll just love that-- 

A finger jabbed into his side. The King of Thieves, his nerves completely destroyed, jumped in alarm and yelped. 

"No need to gape, thief," the guard sneered, obviously enjoying himself. "Your turn's coming up." 

"Can't wait," Autolycus murmured. 

He turned away and thought, with a deadening finality, That's it, then. I'm a murderer. 

The idea disturbed him on a level that he could never have even imagined. Not until that very moment. 

He swallowed, choking down the bile, and then swallowed again, trying to concentrate. A snide voice in the back of his head reminded him that whatever else he was, he'd be a dead one before long if he didn't think fast. 

For the time being he put it out of his mind. Composed himself and turned his attention to the matter at hand. There wasn't anything that could be done for the girl now, even if he had the means to do it, and if he did, he'd already be long gone and the point would be moot. Time to focus on himself. 

Something he was particularly good at. 

Autolycus glanced around, reassessing his options. The guard's spear still poked him lightly in the back, like a maddening itch he just couldn't reach; if he could get his wrists up far enough, reach the spearhead, maybe it would cut through the ropes-- 

"Don't even think about it," the guard growled. "You move a muscle, you're gonna wish your daddy pulled out early." 

Autolycus rolled his eyes again. Observant, and maybe not so stupid after all-- that didn't really give him a lot to work with. At least the fellow had a way with words. 

This was going to be a lot harder than he'd thought. 

* * *

Autolycus sighed and shifted uncomfortably from one leg to the other, feeling the sharp bite of the rocks beneath his bare feet. "Hey, buddy," he said, "can I sit down somewhere? I mean, how long is this gonna take?" 

Without looking at him, the guard said, "I'd enjoy it, if I were you. Soon you won't be feeling a thing." 

"Point taken." 

He sighed again. After the crucifixion the Conqueror had apparently decided to unwind a little with a nice, friendly round of fatal combat before getting on with the rest of the day's business. Two gladiators were going at it with swords in the bare arena at the bottom of the steps. Xena lounged on her throne, watching them with the faint smirk that seemed to be her permanent expression. She looked a little bored. 

Autolycus couldn't help thinking that a bored Conqueror did not bode well. Especially not for a certain highly skilled thief currently awaiting execution. 

They'd taken down the cross, with the now-unconscious girl still strapped to it, and carried it out of the central square and into the fields beyond. She would line the streets along with all the other crucified. She'd serve as an example. 

Dying very slowly, minute by excruciating minute. 

Curing spirit through fear. 

At least she was out of Autolycus's line of sight now. With her gone he could do the best to put the whole thing out of his mind. At least until he could get out of this, until he could afford to dwell on it. Like maybe the fifth of never. 

A sudden motion up at the top of the steps, behind the Conqueror's throne, made him look up sharply. He could have sworn he'd seen something.... 

One of the gladiators got the other one to the ground, and the Conqueror smiled and leaned forward, starting to take an interest in the proceedings. The apparent victor poised his sword over his fallen opponent and bellowed, "For Xena!" 

The soldiers all turned to look at their Conqueror, waiting for her reaction, including Autolycus's own personal guard. He noted this phenomenon with calculating interest, his mind racing. This could be useful. 

Xena grinned and stood, raising her scepter with a loud, harsh cry of victory. The green stone at the end glinted in the sunlight, and Autolycus eyed it more than a little wistfully. If the goodies in her treasury were half as good as that one chunk of rock, he would have been set for at least a year-- or a fortnight, realistically, considering how he'd probably spend the dinars. Easy come, easy go. Or, in this case, just easy go. 

He spared a brief moment for mourning what might have been, then turned his gaze back at the gladiators. The "winner" was starting to thrust his sword down into his opponent's heart when the fallen man jolted into action, sweeping his attacker's feet out from under him. The "winner" hit the dirt, and the Conqueror lowered her scepter, looking annoyed. 

Both gladiators rose and went for each other once again. Autolycus's attention wandered; armed combat to the death wasn't really his thing. Instead he watched the faces of the guards lining the steps. The next time the soldiers got distracted by the fight, he'd just have to make a run for it then. Admittedly not the best of plans, but he was getting desperate. 

Then his eyes widened. "All right," he said under his breath, "this time I _know_ I saw something." 

The guard behind him didn't seem to hear, or to care if he did. 

Autolycus stared hard at the platform, trying to catch another glimpse of that wayward flash of purple he'd seen. It had looked almost like... a person? Wasn't there one less guard up there than had been before the fight started? 

The Conqueror's previously expressionless face took on a look of irritation, and Autolycus glanced back towards the fight. One of the gladiators-- he couldn't tell which-- was on his knees, and the other crouched behind him, holding a knife to his throat. 

Autolycus tensed. Any minute now, he'd have his chance.... 

And then some short blond guy in a purple vest ran out from behind a guard, snatched the Conqueror's scepter, punched out a few guards, grabbed the bright green stone from the end, and leaped down the right side of the stone steps. 

He disappeared in midair. 

"Holy fucking Zeus," Autolycus breathed, staring. "The Chronos Stone." 

Everything happened so fast that it took him a moment to realize what exactly was going on. Then his well-developed survival instinct kicked in, and he took a quick glance around. Things were finally looking up. All of the soldiers that had been guarding the crowd had run forward as soon as the little guy had started knocking people out, leaving the thief's path to freedom more or less unimpeded. His own personal guard wasn't paying attention to him, and as Autolycus started to edge away, the guard stepped forward, torn between his duty to the Conqueror and to... well, the Conqueror. 

It was all Autolycus needed. He turned and ran. 

He shouldered his way through he bewildered crowd, hearing Xena's furious cry of "Get him!" behind him and wondering whether she meant him or the purple guy. He kept his head down, moving as quickly as he could, ignoring the pain in his bare feet and the fire in his ribs. 

The Chronos Stone. Famed manipulator of time and space. He ought to have recognized it right away. Any good thief should have. And now some little guy had just taken it, right out from under the Conqueror's nose-- and gotten away with it. 

Life really wasn't fair at all. 

On the other hand, it did have its little compensations. Like the fact that the completely unfair snatching of the Chronos Stone had just saved his neck for one more day. 

"Thanks, blondie," he gasped aloud to the mysterious disappearing man. "I owe you one." 

Autolycus made his way out of the square and onto the streets of Corinth, intent on his goal-- anywhere that wasn't within the Conqueror's grasp. He couldn't keep running for long, not like this, not with bare feet and his hands tied and barely any clothes to speak of and possibly cracked ribs. He needed to lose the guards and fast, and then find some safe place where he could get clothes and shoes, and maybe some bandages, before he left for parts very, very far away. Some place where anyone who might see him wouldn't be inclined to tell tales if soldiers came a-knocking. 

There was only one such place within the limits of Corinth. With this in mind, Autolycus ran. 

* * *

"Stealing from the Conqueror. It's official, then. You _do_ have a death wish." 

"Actually, I'm just in it for the glory-- hey!" Autolycus winced as the wine-soaked rag scrubbed ruthlessly at his wound. "What, are you trying to kill me now too?" 

"Wouldn't I like to. Save me some worry." His tormentor was an old man, thin and wiry with whipcord muscles and silver hair cropped close to his skull. The bones of his face stood out beneath his skin in high relief, and his dark eyes were lethally sharp. He was, at the moment, doing his best impression of Asclepius-- without, in Autolycus' opinion, notable success. 

"Oh, Tiro, you mean you worry about me? I'm flattered." Autolycus grimaced and shifted position on the cold stone altar as the old man started to wrap up his right shoulder. 

"I worry what Agamede would do if I let anything happen to you," Tiro retorted. "How did you get this particular beauty mark?" 

"Archers. Really good ones. Caught me on my way out of the city." Autolycus raised his eyebrows. "And Agamede would probably throw a party if I got myself killed. That's a nice girl you've got there." 

Tiro had always had a rather exaggerated opinion of Autolycus's relationship with his only daughter, probably due to the fact that the first time they had met Autolycus had taken Agamede's side during an argument with her father. He didn't think he'd do it again. Getting involved in one of Tiro's and his daughter's many disagreements was one surefire route to a broken nose, as he knew from bitter personal experience. 

"Huh." The old man sounded unconvinced now. "If you say so." 

"What, that she's a nice girl? Sure she is. Except, you know, for that one minor character flaw where she doesn't seem to like me at all." 

"That's just good taste." Tiro scowled, crouching down to peer at the soles of Autolycus's feet. "I didn't teach her that, she deserves all the credit. I didn't teach her nearly enough. If I'd raised her like her mother would've wanted, she wouldn't be running around with that... girl of hers now. What in Tartarus did you do to yourself?" 

"Lost my boots to a really cranky guard, that's what," Autolycus said. "I don't think the Conqueror pays her employees enough. Or possibly she pays them too much. And I really don't think that had anything to do with Agamede and her... girl." 

"And that's supposed to mean something? What you think?" The old man brandished a sterilized dagger-- at least Autolycus hoped it was sterilized-- and started attacking the rocks and dirt ground into his bloody feet. Autolycus whimpered and clutched at the edge of the altar, his knuckles turning white. 

"Not if... it'll make you stop," he managed. "Ow! I thought priests were supposed to be all-- all peace-loving and non-violent and _not_ sadistic bastards!" 

Tiro very nearly snarled. "Not when you're a priest of Hermes. Then you can be whatever you like, except maybe law-abiding. Now stop being such a baby," he growled, "would you rather your feet fall off?" 

"Well, when you-- _ow_-- put it that way," Autolycus said. "Touchy subject, is it?" 

"You're walking a fine line, friend," the priest warned. "Don't antagonize the man with a knife to your extremities." 

"You know, that sounds so much worse than it is." 

"But not as bad as it could be." Tiro put down the knife and picking up the rag. Autolycus yelped as the alcohol touched his lacerated soles. 

"Besides, it's not like you'll ever get her in bed," Tiro said under his breath. 

"Hey! Doesn't mean I can't like the kid, in a completely grudging way. Besides, I always knew there had to be _one_." 

"More than one, friend. Or would you like a shot at seducing the Conqueror?" 

"She's not so bad, you know. I'm sure she's a very lovely person when you get to know her. Certainly easy on the eyes, in a tie-me-down-and-torture-me-to-death kind of way...." He paused. "You know what? That's just frightening. Don't say things like that." 

"Well, there you go then." 

"Which is not to say I couldn't if I wanted to." 

"I'm sure you could." Tiro yanked the bandages tight, eliciting another yelp. "You're _lucky_ you could never get Agamede in bed, or I wouldn't let you anywhere near here, thief or no. Your reputation is quite well-known." 

"It better be. I've put long hours of hard work into maintaining that rep. And I'm not just _any_ thief, I'm--" 

"The King, yes, so you say." 

"Gee, try to sound a little less convinced, would you?" Autolycus shifted uncomfortably. "Can I go now? I mean, not that I don't really appreciate this or anything, but temples make me nervous. When I'm not stealing from them, I mean." 

"You're not walking on those feet any time soon," Tiro said. "Besides, I'm not done. I think you have some broken ribs." 

"Once again," Autolycus said, "the cranky guard. Listen--" 

"How did you run so far with broken ribs, pray tell?" 

"You'd be surprised what you'd do when properly motivated. Listen," he said hurriedly, "I can't stay here, the Conqueror and friends are bound to figure out I'd come here. You know that." To the general population of Corinth, and the lands beyond, the Temple of Hermes on the eastern outskirts of the city was just a place of worship; only a select few knew that Tiro, the High Priest and more or less general manager, occasionally offered asylum to some of the better class of thieves. Anybody who did know knew better than to tell tales, but that was beside the point. The Conqueror would find out, if she didn't know already. That much Autolycus was sure of. 

"Doesn't matter. As long as you're here you're under Hermes' protection," Tiro said, running his hands over Autolycus' bare chest. 

Autolycus bit his lip, distracted for a moment by the pain. Then he demanded, "You think Xena the Conqueror is gonna care about that, once she gets going? Call me naïve, but I don't think you get to be Destroyer of Nations by worrying about what's off-limits." 

Tiro finished wrapping up his ribs and tied off the bandage. "Take it easy for a while and that should do it. You want to try to walk? Fine. Be my guest. Lots of luck. I have business to attend to." 

Autolycus raised an eyebrow as he watched the priest storm out of the room. "Well, somebody sure hasn't been getting any lately," he said to himself, hopping off the altar and landing smoothly on the stone floor of the temple. 

A moment later he was sprawled out on the floor, red-hot bolts of pain shooting up from his feet, his ribs throbbing in loud protest. He groaned aloud. 

Two sandalled feet appeared in front of his nose, and Tiro's voice remarked, "Well, that went well." 

"I wasn't ready," Autolycus grunted. "Just let me-- I got it--" 

He started to push himself up. A burst of fire from his injured shoulder made him reconsider. 

"Yes?" the priest said coolly. 

Autolycus sighed. "Or maybe I'll just lie here for a few days." 

He could almost hear Tiro rolling his eyes. Then the old man leaned over and grasped his good arm, hauling him to his feet. Autolycus tiptoed gingerly back to the alter and sat down again, scowling. 

"There," Tiro said, like the harassed father he was. "Now don't move. I'll be back to deal with you later." 

Autolycus narrowed his eyes. "I'm not staying here," he insisted. "No one's gonna get killed for me. I wouldn't do it for anyone else." 

Tiro pursed his lips. "You didn't used to be noble, Autolycus. I'm ashamed of you." 

He didn't know how to answer that. "Not until this morning" was one response guaranteed to give away far more than he wanted anyone to know. 

They'd talked, or rather traded insults, and it was just like old times, just like it had been ever since Tiro was the old master and Autolycus the cocky young thief who'd pegged him for an easy mark and tried to pick his pocket. Autolycus wasn't sure if he'd actually count the priest as a friend-- friends were liabilities, and getting involved with others only led to unnecessary trouble-- but Tiro was one person who had, over the years, consistently not tried to kill him (except for that one time with Agamede, which he had chosen to overlook once it became apparent that his nose was going to heal up as good as new), and that certainly meant _something_ in the grand scheme of things. 

But Autolycus's heart wasn't in it this time. He was faking it, and not doing a very good job of it. He was distracted; he was reeling under the sudden, unwelcome feeling of responsibility for someone other than himself. If Tiro had noticed anything different, he hadn't commented so far, and Autolycus wanted to keep it that way. He didn't want to talk to Tiro about it. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He just wanted to get far, far away before he could put anyone else in danger. 

He just wanted to put it out of his mind and get on with his life. The way it had been before. 

"It's not nobility," he said finally, weakly. "I just don't want to be indebted, that's all. I've got my own problems, you know." 

He didn't expect the priest to buy it, but it seemed he was a better actor than he'd thought. "Okay! Fine," Tiro growled, throwing up his hands. "There's a place nearby where you can stay until you're fit to travel. You can't see it unless you know where to look, and only those blessed by Hermes even know it exists." 

"Um...." Autolycus hesitated. "Well, doesn't that count me out?" 

Tiro sighed. "You're blessed from the moment you come to Hermes for asylum until the moment you leave. When the blessing is lifted, you forget where the place is. It's a nifty little system, and I'm afraid even you can't find a fault in it, so if I were you I wouldn't waste my time." 

Autolycus narrowed his eyes. "I don't suppose I have to--" 

"You don't have to do anything. Hermes knows better than to expect eternal devotion from you, friend." 

Autolycus felt his mouth curl up in a mixture of relief and amusement. "I think I've been insulted." 

"No, just pegged." The old man grinned. "I know you, Autolycus. You don't like to be tied to anything-- not a woman, not a place, and certainly not a god." 

"Yeah, you and Hermes just keep that in mind." Autolycus slid off the altar again, much more carefully this time than before. "So let's get going, then, time's a-wasting." 

"No," Tiro said, suddenly brusque. "I do have things to do. I'll take you tonight." 

He started to leave. Autolycus called after him, "Can I at least find some other place to sit? I feel like a human sacrifice up here!" 

Without turning around, Tiro shot back, "Oh, haven't you heard? Hermes only accepts _virgin_ sacrifices." 

For a long moment Autolycus stared after his retreating back in disbelief. Then he shrugged and hopped back up on the altar, swinging his feet over the sides, and started to whistle. 

* * *

Xena the Conqueror sat up on her throne, still as a statue, watching the activity below her with hooded eyes. Soldiers moved about the main room of the castle, murmuring to each other and occasionally sending her nervous looks. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. Satisfying though it was, this was no time to dwell on the effect she had on her troops. 

She glanced down at the man kneeling in front of the throne. He was peering up at her; as her eyes met his, he lowered his gaze. 

"Yes?" she said coldly. 

"Your... your highness...." the man stammered. "The other prisoner, the thief... he, he...." 

She raised one eyebrow and waited. 

"He escaped," the helpless messenger blurted out. 

Her eyes narrowed. "Is that all? I'm not stupid, Passalus. I was already aware of that particular bit of information." 

"Oh, no! Of course not, your-- your exaltedness!" The man was trembling now. He looked, she decided, like a cross between a rabbit and a cow-- big, dumb, and nervous. "I mean-- of course you did. I mean--" 

"I'm disappointed in you. And very, very bored." Her lip curled up in the faintest echo of a sneer. "The man is _wounded_. Send soldiers after him. I'm sure my troops can manage to catch a wounded thief." 

"Yes, your excellency," the messenger squeaked, backing away from the throne. 

"Passalus," she said quietly. 

He froze, with an almost comical look of dread. "Yes, your worship?" 

Her smile was entirely without humor. "The little man who stole my stone?" 

"But--" 

"His name is Iolaus. He's a thief from Thebes, and he knows how to handle himself in a fight. Find him as well." 

"But, your exaltedness--" 

"You already used that one." 

Passalus's face screwed up like a miserable child's. He pressed on, "The man, he-- he vanished into thin air! How can we possibly find him?" 

"He is not a god, Passalus, he is a _man_. Mortal men can certainly create illusions and seem to vanish, but without help from the gods, they cannot simply disappear. Find him." 

"Yes, your highness," Passalus mumbled, and scurried out. 

She stared after him and commented, with quiet amusement, "You used that one too." 

Silently she swore at this new turn of events. She'd meant to leave Corinth in the morning and get on with business elsewhere; there were some upstarts in Egypt wanting to declare themselves an independent nation, and rumors of an insurrection in northern Gaul. Now it looked like she'd have to stick around a little while longer. 

Damn the thieves. 

"Oh, well done," came a voice from behind the throne, accompanied by slow clapping. "Nothing like putting a little fear of the gods into them. Or should that be fear of Xena, the Destroyer of Nations?" 

Xena leaned her head back against the throne, staring straight ahead. "What do you want, Ares?" 

"Just checking in on my favorite warrior princess. Is that so wrong?" 

"Favorite? I do hope there aren't that many of us." 

"You could say you're a fairly elite bunch." Ares, God of War, sauntered around to the front of the throne, trailing his fingers along the back. "I hear you had a minor event today." 

She still didn't turn to look at him. "Just a small theft. The culprit will be... properly punished." 

"Now that I can't wait to see. The fact is--" Ares rested his elbow on the back of the throne, leaning in close until she felt his lips and the fine black hairs of his beard against her left ear. "I feel it only fair to warn you that the man is completely insane." 

"Really." 

"Oh, definitely. He barged into my temple today like he knew me and started babbling on about, and I quote, 'stopping Xena'. _Serious_ mental case." 

Her lips compressed into a tight, thin line. "Maybe you do want to stop me. Maybe you're bored with me." 

After a beat, Ares threw back his head and laughed, that sudden, manic laugh she knew so well. "Xena, Xena, how could I ever be bored with you? You make life worth taking, and I'll have you know, I don't say that to just anyone. No, you should know better than that." 

Xena's mouth curved into a faint smirk. "I do know." 

The doors opened and two soldiers entered the throne room, carrying between them the semi-conscious peasant girl with the broken legs. "Took 'er down at sunset, like you said," one of them called. "Don't think she'll be missed among the rest." 

She nodded, satisfied. "Good. You know what to do with her." 

As the soldiers started to haul the girl out of the room, Xena's gaze lingered thoughtfully on the back of her bright gold head. There was something about the way her hair hung over her shoulders, the way her body fell forward, like she knew how the girl looked when she stood straight and proud, bright light blazing from her face.... 

But I do know, Xena thought, I saw that this morning. She dragged herself back to reality; by the time she looked for the girl again, the soldiers had already gone. 

She made a mental note to find out a little bit about her latest victim's past, then sat back in her throne again and sighed. "Two petty thieves. Hardly a real challenge." 

"If you want me to find them for you-- " the god behind her began. 

"Now where would be the fun in that? No, no. Let me." Xena stood. "I'm going to my bedchambers. If you're not busy...." She trailed off suggestively, sauntering from the room. 

Ares watched her go, then shook his head with a low, appreciative whistle. "Now _that_ is some woman." 

* * *

"I can't see a damned thing." 

"I did tell you," Tiro said, with no small satisfaction in his voice. "You shouldn't be walking in the first place, especially if you can't see where you're going." 

"Yeah? Well, would ya rather carry me? I didn't think so." Autolycus limped around a fallen branch. "Ow! What in Tartarus was that?" 

"...can't see what you're stepping in...." 

"Shut up. I didn't need that. Shut up." 

Autolycus edged forward, clutching at a nearby tree for support. "Okay, Tiro. First of all, thank you very much for the clothes, but listen, if you could possibly get me a spare set of my own outfit, I'd really appreciate it, because frankly I don't think we're anywhere near the same size and priest's robes aren't really my style, if you get my drift. Is that all right with you?" Tiro's old robe didn't even go past mid-thigh on him; he was wearing it over the loose black pants the Conqueror had so generously donated to the Cause of Executing the King of Thieves, and he felt, to put it simply, like an idiot. 

The old priest just shrugged. His short hair gleamed in the moonlight. "If you'd like." 

"Oh, I would. And second of all--" Autolycus pitched forward suddenly with a yell, his arms flailing, the ground rushing up to meet him at an alarming rate. He closed his eyes, resigned, and thought of Greece-- specifically, the small part of it about to smash his nose back into his brain-- and then strong arms grabbed him around the waist and hauled him upright again, propping him up against a tree. 

He opened his eyes. Nothing seemed to be broken that hadn't already been. 

"Yes?" Tiro said pleasantly. 

Autolycus scowled down at him. "Second of all, how in Zeus's name do you get around in these sandals?" he demanded, sticking one leg out. "I feel like I'm wearing roofing on my feet!" 

"You get used to it." Tiro raised his eyebrows at the Autolycus' belligerent expression. "Never mind, we're here." 

Autolycus stared at him. Then he very pointedly took in his surroundings-- trees, trees, and more trees-- and turned to stare at the priest again. 

Tiro just smiled. 

"Tiro," he said ominously, "I am not staying in a tree with one of your wood nymph friends." 

The priest shook his head. "You are such a realist," he sighed. 

"That's a bad thing?" 

"Certainly a frequent handicap." Tiro waved one hand towards a nearby clearing. "There." 

Autolycus rubbed his eyes, wincing as his shoulder protested. A minute ago he would have sworn the clearing was just open land; now, against all odds, a small house stood there. 

"Um," he said, after a moment. "What exactly did you put in that tea?" 

The priest actually laughed out loud. It was a startling sound, rusty with disuse. "I told you. You can't see it unless you're looking for it and you know exactly where it is." 

"I thought you were just being figurative!" 

"Now when have I ever been figurative? This place has been blessed by Hermes as well. Hence the hiddenness." 

"Man, that guy sure gets around with the blessings, doesn't he?" Autolycus muttered. 

He was not having a good day. Well, to be honest, he was really having a fairly sucky week. A few days ago there'd been rumors of some guy in Nemea claiming to be the real King of Thieves, which had led in part to Autolycus's attempted theft from the Conqueror-- it was the best way he could think of to secure his title, touching the untouchable woman. Figuratively speaking. Then, of course, he'd been captured and briefly beaten up the night before, stripped and thrown into a dungeon cell, then dragged out in the morning (early in the morning, just to add insult to the injury) and almost executed, and then while escaping he'd been shot in the shoulder and had his feet cut to ribbons. And then, after all that, he'd had to sit around the Temple of Hermes, bored out of his skull and in a makeshift disguise in case anyone might recognize him, while worshippers wandered in and out, talking and going about their business and completely ignoring him. 

But that wasn't the really annoying part. No, _that_ was what everyone had been talking about-- not the latest exploits of Autolycus, the King of Thieves, but the strange blond man who had stolen the Chronos Stone from the Conqueror's staff. 

Autolycus's mantle, it seemed, was in serious danger of slipping. And nobody even knew the guy's name. 

Some people said he looked familiar, but couldn't place a name to the face. A couple of girls who showed up later in the day had exchanged knowing looks and secret smiles, which didn't improve Autolycus's mood any. He'd pointed out more than once that it wasn't even a real theft-- no finesse whatsoever, just punch and grab, a glorified purse-snatching really-- but no one else, it seemed, shared his particular point of view. And in a profession where you're only as good as your reputation, public perception was everything. If word got out that this guy had succeeded where Autolycus had failed.... 

Well. He knew, with a sick certainty, exactly where this was heading. If people didn't start to forget about this mystery man soon-- which was starting to look more and more unlikely, the way everyone was talking about him like he was the biggest celebrity in Greece, and why not, the guy had stolen, well, snatched from the Conqueror, after all-- he'd have to take drastic steps to maintain his title. 

Assuming he could take steps at all. 

Autolycus limped slowly towards the house, and Tiro very tactfully, or possibly very bloody-mindedly, did not give him a hand. 

"There's only one other person here now," the priest was saying. "The two of you... well, either you'll get along famously or you'll end up killing each other, and then I won't have to worry anymore." 

"Very funny." 

"You think I'm joking?" Tiro said darkly. 

Autolycus tried the door. It was locked. 

Of course. 

He knelt down in front of the door, pulling out a set of lockpicks-- appropriated from a visitor to the temple who'd been particularly admiring of the mystery blond's exploits-- and started to work. Within a few moments the lock clicked open, and he sat back in satisfaction. "There, now what?" 

"Now," a new voice said, "the boredom sets in." 

Autolycus looked up from his crouched position in the dirt and blinked at the man looming over him: black leather pants, mismatched patchwork vest, uncombed shoulder-length blond hair.... Then he saw the guy's face, and his jaw dropped open. 

Behind him, Tiro said, "Hello, Iolaus." 

End Part 1 

_Like it? Review. Hate it? Review anyway._


	3. Chapter 2

"Half A Life" (2/11)  
by Maya Tawi 

_"Perhaps there'll be another me  
Waiting here for another you"  
-Sophia Hawthorne_

"You." Autolycus climbed to his feet, wincing, then glared at the man in the doorway. "You," he repeated angrily. There really wasn't much else to say. 

"I take it you two have met?" Tiro said. 

Iolaus looked blank. "Actually, I'm at a loss. Do I know you?" 

"You-- you--" 

"Yes, we got that," Tiro said, bemused. 

Autolycus spun around to face him. "Tiro," he said, "this is the man who stole the Chronos Stone." 

Iolaus' eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Excuse me, I stole the _what?_" 

"Autolycus," Tiro said, "Iolaus was here all day." 

"All week, you mean," Iolaus said under his breath, watching the developing argument avidly. 

Autolycus shook his head, adamant. "That's him." 

"Maybe you got confused--" 

"Tiro, I was about to be fucking executed. That kind of thing makes you pay a little attention to your surroundings." 

"Wait a minute. You're talking about the _Chronos_ Stone?" Iolaus broke in. "As in, big hunk of a green thing that manipulates time, that got split into a bunch of different pieces by the gods and scattered all over the world? That kind of Chronos Stone? I thought it was just a myth." 

So had Autolycus, but he wasn't about to say so. "No, the other Chronos Stone. The one that turns you into a world-class dancing girl-- yes, that one! You should know, you stole the damned thing!" 

"I did not!" Then Iolaus's expression turned thoughtful; he scratched his head, the gesture seeming more habitual than practical. "Although if I had... how much do you think you could get for something like that? You'd be set for at least a year, wouldn't you?" 

"More than that." Autolycus started to stroke his mustache, preoccupied with the idea. "Let's see, it depends on who you could sell it to; worst-case scenario, we'd say-- hey!" He crossed his arms, scowling. "I think you're missing the point just a little here, aren't you?" 

"Excuse me?" 

"The point isn't how much you could get for it, it's what you could do with it, and especially it's being the guy who stole the Chronos Stone from Xena the Conqueror. Which, apparently--" His scowl became a full-fledged glare. "Is you. Congratu-freakin'-lations." 

"Xena the Conqueror, huh?" Iolaus looked him up and down, from sandals and baggy black pants to secondhand priest's robe and back again. "And what were you doing waiting for the Conqueror to execute you?" 

Autolycus rolled his eyes. "The boy's a prodigy," he muttered. Then, louder, "Shall I spell it out for you, or can you manage to connect the dots all on your own?" 

At that point Tiro, who looked far too amused, interjected, "Autolycus here considers himself the King of Thieves. He was caught stealing from our beloved despot." 

Autolycus turned his glare on the priest. When he said it, in that dry, sarcastic tone of his, it sounded almost... ridiculous. "That's right. The King." 

"Oh," Iolaus said. "You." 

"So you've heard of me--" He frowned. "Hey, what's that supposed to mean? 'Oh, you'?" he mimicked. 

Iolaus ignored him, turning instead to Tiro. He did not, Autolycus noted suspiciously, step outside the door. 

"Forget it. Can I get out of here now? Not that I don't appreciate this, but it's boring as Tartarus in here. More boring, actually, since at least in Tartarus there'd be something happening, torturous though it may be, and I think you know what I'm getting at here." 

Autolycus snorted. Tiro looked suddenly-- though not entirely-- grave. "Boring is alive, friend. I believe you're still safer--" 

"Fuck safer--" 

"--in here, for two reasons," the priest continued, raising his voice. "The Stone was stolen, that much is true-- we've heard about it all day. If what Autolycus says is true as well--" 

"If," Autolycus echoed under his breath, shaking his head. 

"--if the thief does look like you, then you have more reason than ever to want to hide. And with the theft today and his escape, the Conqueror won't be leaving the area any time soon." 

"Oh, great! That's just great!" Iolaus rounded on Autolycus. "You just had to go get caught and then escape, huh? King of Thieves, my--" 

"Hey!" Autolycus said sharply. "Like I asked to get caught! Come on, Blondie, are you deaf or something?" He tapped his ear. "It was you-- oh, excuse me, _your_ merry identical twin who managed to piss her off royally. So get over it!" 

Iolaus glowered, then turned back to Tiro. "Look, I can take care of myself, seriously. It'll always be safer in here, you know, that's not the point. I mean, this has been a gre-- a very... uneventful vacation, and thanks and everything. Even though you've been a real devious bastard about the whole thing, because you know what, that's just your way, so I'll overlook it this time. But I've really got to get going--" 

"No," Tiro interrupted, with a definite note of finality in his voice. It was his Father Knows Best voice again, with an additional edge of Father's Gonna Beat You If You Disobey-- a tone honed to perfection after seventeen years of using it on Agamede. Autolycus wondered if Iolaus would recognize it as well, and realized with no small amount of glee that he was looking forward to finding out. 

Iolaus, unfortunately, seemed to know the tone all too well. He subsided, looking sulky, and Autolycus decided this would be a good time to interject. 

"Now just wait a second, buddy. I'm not staying here with him." 

Tiro opened his mouth, but the other thief beat him to it. 

"Oh, I get it." Iolaus smirked. "This guy you say looks like me stole from the Conqueror in front of gods know how many people, but you got caught. Feeling a little inadequate, huh? Not quite so kingly anymore?" 

Autolycus's eyes went wide with indignation. "It wasn't even real thieving! You-- he-- just ran up and _grabbed_ the thing--" 

"Boys," Tiro said, "do you think you could take this inside?" 

They ignored him. "Excuses, excuses," Iolaus taunted. "What were you doing anyway, stealing the royal herd of cattle?" 

"Well, aren't you just a barrel of monkeys? I can certainly see the resemblance--" 

"Oh, I'm laughing--" 

"So what are you in for, huh? Purse-snatching? Picking pockets?" 

"You don't look so great from here." Iolaus again looked him up and down. "Hand-me-downs, huh? What happened, you lose your clothes in a freak gardening accident?" 

"You know," Tiro said, "as interesting as all this is--" 

"Yeah? At least I don't shop at Colorblind 'R' Us. Whoever told you those colors go together--" 

"Ooh, that one hurt," Iolaus said with a sneer. "I've heard all about you. Everyone says you're all talk, and I have to say, that _certainly_ seems to be the case--" 

"Well, I am King for a reason, Shorty, and I'm ten times the thief you'll ever be. I'll have you know--" 

Autolycus didn't get to finish what was sure to be a particularly devastating comeback. Iolaus jerked like he'd been stung and started to lunge for him; somehow, he never made it, instead seeming to rebound off of some invisible barrier in the doorway. He staggered back into the house, off-balance. 

Before Autolycus could process this new information, a sandalled foot planted itself in the small of his back and propelled him forward, through the doorway and into the house. 

As he stumbled over the threshold, he felt something like a giant ripple go through him, a flash of blinding light that enveloped him and seemed to make the world slow down for a few moments. Then he was through the other side and falling, once again at full speed, directly into the not-quite-welcoming arms of a very surprised Iolaus. They hit the floor together with a bone-rattling thud that knocked the wind out of both of them. 

"Get the fuck off me!" Iolaus demanded, a bit breathlessly, shoving in vain at the weight sprawled on top of him. Autolycus didn't respond at first, the sudden burst of pain rendering him speechless; when he regained his voice, he snarled, "Lay off, would you? I'm injured here!" 

"There," said a very satisfied voice from the doorway. "My work is done." 

Autolycus rolled off of the red-faced man beneath him and onto his back on the dirt floor. He glared up at Tiro. The priest seemed unperturbed. 

"Good evening, Iolaus. I trust you will show him the ropes. Autolycus, I believe you will find a spare set of clothes in the closet. Enjoy your stay, and trust me-- it's for your own good." 

Then Tiro was gone. 

"Scariest words in the Greek language, you back-stabbing hydra!" Autolycus yelled after him. Not surprisingly, he received no response. 

Iolaus growled, got up, and closed the door against the night. Autolycus glared at him for a moment, then turned away and took his first good look around the place. 

The house was little more than an overgrown box, barely twenty paces square with a dirt floor and thatched roof, lit by several candleholders lining the walls. The only things breaking the monotony were two doors and a window. And two bedrolls, tucked away in the far corner of the room. One of the doors was the one he'd just been so unceremoniously shoved through; the other, he decided with lightning-quick powers of deduction, had to be the closet. 

He rose to his feet and limped to the closet, opened the door, and stood there for a moment, blinking. 

"Well," he said. "Son of a bacchae. Whaddya know." 

Autolycus knelt down and scooped up the green-and-black bundle of leather and linen, then turned around again. Iolaus hadn't moved; he was currently resting his forehead against the closed door, looking like he planned to stay there for the rest of the night. His sun-bleached blond hair fell past his shoulders, obscuring his face, but Autolycus could see that his eyes were closed and he looked more than a little pained. He looked, in fact, like one of those statues in those galleries in Athens, with the one-word names-- Anguish, maybe, or Misery. 

Oh, great, Autolycus thought. And this is the ray of sunshine I get to spend the night with. 

Maybe there was something to be said for execution after all. 

He dropped his clothes on the floor in front of him and stood awkwardly on one leg, trying to pull off the cotton trousers without much success. "Um, what in Zeus's name just happened?" 

Iolaus let his breath out in a quiet, irritated huff, then opened his eyes and straightened, yanked the door open, grabbed Autolycus's (who had hopped his way over, with soft curses and mumbled "ow"s) right hand, and thrust it through the doorway. 

Or tried to, anyway. It was like striking an invisible stone wall. Autolycus's eyes went wide, and he yanked his hand away; the force of the movement, and his already precarious sense of balance, combined to knock him flat on his ass, pants around his ankles. "Hey!" he protested, clutching his injured fist to his chest. "What was that for?" 

"To prove a point." Iolaus closed the door once more and leaned back against it, looking tired. "You know, the thing they never remind you of is that Hermes may be the God of Thieves, and of Travellers, and okay, of making sure mail gets where it's going on time, although frankly he's slacking off on that one more than a little-- but before all that he's the God of Tricksters. And you, buddy, have just been thoroughly tricked." 

Autolycus had decided that the ground wasn't such a bad place to be after all, and had managed to get the cotton pants off and to struggle into his black leather breeches. He was currently preoccupied with trying to get the robe over his head somehow without having to move his shoulder-- the one with the arrow hole punched in it-- when Iolaus' words sunk in. 

"And what's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, halting his fight with the priest's robe. A cold certainty was beginning to settle into his stomach. 

"Just this. Oh, this house does everything Tiro probably told you about-- hides us from mortal eyes, and protects us from other gods-- but the part he _didn't_ tell you about is the part where once you're in... well, you can't get back out. Not until the High Priest says." Iolaus paused to let him contemplate this, then grinned-- a rueful grin, but one entirely without humor. "Until Tiro thinks it's safe, we're stuck here together." 

* * *

Ordinarily Tiro wasn't bothered by darkness. Not because he wasn't afraid to die, or because he was sure of Hermes' protection; only the truly suicidal weren't bothered by death and only a fool thought the gods actually cared about his well-being, and Tiro was neither. He hadn't become a priest due to some deep-seated piety; it had simply seemed like a good idea at the time, and he'd taken to the life surprisingly well. He'd _become_ rather pious along the way, of course, in his own Hermian fashion, but that hadn't been the case in the beginning. 

He had joined the temple because being a priest, after all, was a great way to mess with people's heads. 

And he didn't fear the night because he was confident in his ability to take care of himself, and more so in the long knife he kept tucked under his robe. Tiro may have been old, but he could certainly still fight, and he had no compunctions about spilling blood if necessary. It was nice to be the kind of person other people underestimated. Usually they wouldn't hit as hard at first. 

Tonight, however, something different was in the air. Something that felt... dangerous. 

He still didn't hurry. Danger was one thing; indignity was another thing entirely. 

Tiro made his way slowly up the steps to the temple, wincing as his knees protested the climb. There had to be some way around the stairs. He'd heard tales of weighted lifting devices being sold in Athens, something that might be worth looking into. 

The Temple of Hermes at Corinth was set up in three different sections. There was the front prayer room, open to the outside, where anyone who came could leave an offering, pray, ask a favor, fill out a comment scroll or whatever else they wanted to do; there was the inner chamber, where those truly dedicated to Hermes could visit to conduct whatever pressing business they happened to have; and then, in the back of all of it, behind locked doors, was where the High Priest lived. 

It was to here that Tiro made his way, after extinguishing all the torches in the other two rooms. There was a lock on the door but no key; one way or another, the High Priest of Hermes never needed one. 

He stepped into the sparsely furnished room and started to light his lantern, then stopped. 

Someone was waiting for him. 

Tiro stood frozen, staring into the darkness, his mind racing. None of the other priests knew about this room. In fact, no one else possibly could, except for-- 

"Oh," he said after a moment, his voice cool. "You." 

"Hi, Dad," the girl said. 

He struck his pocket flint and lit the lantern with the resulting small flame. Light flared and then settled, bathing the room in a soft, warm glow. 

His daughter sat cross-legged on his bed, watching him. Her fingers drummed lightly on her knees. She wore a new outfit, a red sleeveless tunic that laced up the front (not very tightly, he noted with disapproval) and a faded yellow and green cotton skirt. Her boots were dirtying the bedsheets. Messy blond hair was shoved back behind her ears, and her thin, elfin face nearly twitched with impatience and nervous anticipation. 

Tiro turned his back on her, setting the lantern on the table in the corner and emptying his pockets. She didn't say anything, but the silence was deafening. 

"I'm not going to ask how you got in," he said eventually, without turning around. 

"You'd better not." She sounded like she wanted to say something else but was biting her tongue. 

"Where's Sileia?" 

"She's visiting her parents." Now Agamede's voice sounded wary, yet somehow relieved, as though she'd been waiting for the subject to be broached. 

"Oh," Tiro said, still cool. "No problems, then?" 

"No, no problems. They just don't like me," Agamede said. "Funny, isn't it? Why is that, do you think?" 

"Agamede, I don't want to get into this right now--" 

"Of course not. You just want to quietly disapprove and expect me to live with it." 

He turned around then, feeling the old frustration mount up again and wishing he could just close his aching eyes and then open them to find his daughter gone. Then he felt guilty for even having the thought. But he just couldn't deal with her tonight. 

"Well, what do you want from me?" he demanded when that didn't happen, leaning back against the table and folding his arms across his chest. 

Agamede's dark blue eyes went wide. "Dad-- I _love_ you, okay? I _want_ you to accept who I am, and not to think I'm just some mistake you made because you weren't good enough--" 

Tiro scowled. "That's not--" 

"I _want_ you to look at Sileia and see her just as someone I love. And to feel like she's your daughter too. And I know it's sappy and cheesy and everything and you don't do sap, but that's what I _want_. And you asked." 

Tiro closed his eyes again and massaged his temples. "You know how I feel about this, Agamede," he said, feeling like he'd said it a million times before. Of course; he had. "It's fine for men. That's different. That's natural. But women--" 

"Should be nice and sweet and docile wives to their big manly husbands, should cook and clean and look after the kids while the _man_ is off having adventures and fighting wars? And fucking other guys because that's _natural_? Is that it?" 

"Don't swear," Tiro said. 

"Dad--" 

"Yes, that's it. That's exactly it," he snapped, with the distinct, uncomfortable feeling that the conversation had gotten away from him. "And what of it?" 

"That is so incredibly old-fashioned!" 

"I'm an old-fashioned man, Agamede." 

"You wouldn't like me if I were docile." 

"That's what you think--" 

"Dad, we're getting married," she said in a rush. 

He gaped at her. A heavy silence descended. Agamede was fidgeting nervously on the bed, but her eyes were bright and her cheeks were glowing. She certainly looked like a bride. 

"Dad?" she ventured. "Dad, your mouth is still open." 

He closed it, then asked, his voice faint, "You and...?" 

"Me and Sileia." 

"You...." 

"We're going to do it whether you approve or not," Agamede declared, her face practically radiating righteous defiance. "But... we'd like your blessing. We'd like... I'd like for you to be there." 

"Sileia is...." Complete sentences were still somewhat beyond his reach. 

"Telling her parents," Agamede said. "We want all of you there." 

"Agamede, you're only seventeen!" Tiro burst out, finally regaining comprehensive powers of speech. "You-- you're still just a girl!" 

Her eyes were shrewd. "Oh, like every other girl my age isn't getting married off to the friendly neighborhood farm boy right about now!" 

"She's twice your age!" 

"She is not," Agamede retorted. "She's twenty-seven." 

"Oh, only ten years older, then, my mistake--" 

"Well, what does age matter, anyway? You think the farm boys aren't at least that old? Look--" Agamede's expression turned pleading. "We've been together for two years now. I love her. There are some things you just-- just know, you know? I mean, I'm gonna be with Sileia for the rest of my life, I can feel it. Getting married, you know, it's only logical." 

"No, but listen--" 

"Just think about it," Agamede said, fixing her pleading eyes on him. Tiro felt torn. "I'm going to be around for a few days, so think about it. It would really mean a lot to me if--" 

"Shh!" Tiro said suddenly, raising his hand in a quick, abortive gesture. He cocked his head to the side, listening hard. 

After a moment, Agamede whispered, "What is it?" 

"People are coming," Tiro murmured back. "A lot of them." 

"Oh." 

"Armed." 

"_Oh_." She paled. "What do they want?" 

"I think I can guess," Tiro said grimly, straightening. "Agamede, stay here. Don't leave this room, no matter what happens. They don't know you're here." 

His daughter jumped off the bed, a bundle of pent-up nervous energy. "No way, Dad. There's no way I'll just stand here and let you go fight these people alone. I can help--" 

"I know you can fight, but can you fight the Conqueror's army?" Her eyes widened in alarm, and he smiled. "Of course not. Now don't argue with me, I'm much older than you and I know far better than you do." 

She stamped her foot. When she realized what she had done, she looked embarrassed, but that didn't prevent her from demanding in an undertone, "What in Tartarus is going on? Why is the Conqueror after you?" 

"Don't swear," Tiro said again. 

"Fuck that!" Agamede hissed. "I'll fight anyway! You can't just expect me to stay here and--" 

"That's exactly what I expect you to do." 

"How are you so calm?" she burst out, voice rising, before catching herself and lowering her words to a whisper again. "Who knows what thy want with you and you're just standing there and-- and-- standing there!" 

Tiro met her furious gaze squarely. "I acted to protect two men with full knowledge of the possible consequences. Now it's time for me to face them." 

"Then let me help you!" 

"No. I will never risk you dying for me." He hesitated, staring at his daughter-- her hair wild, her fists planted on her hips, her blue eyes blazing. She looked like a miniature force of nature. 

She looked like her mother. 

Fight, he thought bitterly. She thinks I'm going to fight. She thinks you can fight something like this. 

"I'm your father," he said. "And you're staying here." 

He turned to go. 

Tiro felt her eyes burning into his back as he walked out-- into the back hall, then the inner room, then, finally, out the double doors and into the dark, open antechamber, into a night suddenly full of dangers that, for once, he had no way of protecting himself against. 

As Tiro stood at the top of the steps and gazed out across the legions of soldiers assembled on the lawn in front of him, he thought with dismay, I really am that old after all. 

* * *

"Satisfied?" 

The question was asked in a bored, disinterested tone of voice. Autolycus snarled and kicked the invisible barrier once more. Then he yelped and grabbed at his booted foot. 

"Oh, that helped," Iolaus said under his breath. 

"Hey! Shut up. At least I'm trying something, okay?" 

Iolaus snorted. "What, you think I haven't tried all this before? This place was designed by the _God of Thieves_, genius. He's not going to just let people walk out of here." 

Autolycus slammed the door shut and slumped back against it, glaring at him. Iolaus had been quiet most of the evening, looking lost in his own thoughts in an overall melancholy sort of way; now he was seated cross-legged in one corner of the room, eyes closed. He'd taken off his open vest at some point, and was now wearing only his black leather breeches and his boots. Light from the candles lining the walls flickered over him, casting strange shadows over his bare skin. 

"What are you doing?" Autolycus demanded. 

Without opening his eyes, Iolaus said, "Meditating." 

"What-a-whating?" It's not like that vest left anything to the imagination anyway, he thought sourly, I don't know why I.... 

He didn't finish the thought. 

"Forget it." 

"I'll just do that," Autolycus said quickly, unsure for a moment just what he was supposed to forget. Then he glanced around again. "There _has_ to be a way out of here." 

Iolaus' eyes snapped open. He looked annoyed. "I said--" 

"Yeah, I know what you said. I say there's no such thing as a way in without a way out." 

"What's the big deal, anyway? You have somewhere to be?" 

"No," Autolycus retorted, "I just don't like being somewhere I can't get out of if I need to. No good thief would." 

"All right, fine. Go for it. Knock yourself out." Iolaus closed his eyes again. "Please." 

Autolycus rolled his eyes and took a long, calculating look around the room. The barrier, as he had discovered, went all the way around the house, not just in front of the door and the window. He couldn't break through the walls; he'd even tried digging through the dirt floor, not getting very far before being stopped once again by the godly force. He hadn't tried the roof, due to an unfortunate lack of necessary height, but he suspected it was just more of the same. 

The place was definitely a fire hazard. Too bad there wasn't anywhere to lodge a complaint. 

The problem with gods, Autolycus decided, was that they really didn't play fair. A magical, invisible barrier had no lock to pick, no shoddy security to slip by, not even adequate security to bluff his way past. It was nothing more than an invisible, supremely uncompromising wall. 

Eventually he said, "Well, it can wait till tomorrow, I'm sure. We wouldn't be going anywhere tonight anyway, not with the lovely Xena's troops likely out in force." 

"Finally," Iolaus muttered. "Common sense. I'm amazed." 

Autolycus stuck his hands in his pockets and sauntered across the room to where Iolaus was sitting, as well as he could manage anyway, in light of his aching soles. One of the many injuries he had to thank the Conqueror for. "Cute," he said with a smirk. "Very cute. Cute as a button, in fact, little guy, I'm surprised someone actually let you off your leash--" 

"Shove it up your--" 

"Now now, there's no call for that kind of language." Autolycus folded his arms across his chest-- very carefully-- and leaned against the wall beside Iolaus. He slid down to a sitting position, grinning. 

Iolaus just sat still and meditated, or silently seethed, or committed some curious combination of the two. The room fell quiet as Autolycus watched him, feeling his own smile fade. First the brooding, he thought, and now this. The guy's got a real hard-on for introspection. 

Instropection was not something Autolycus was very good at, or wanted to be. 

After a moment, he asked, "What's your biggest job?" 

Iolaus only opened one eye this time-- very blue, and very bewildered. "What?" 

"_Steal-ing_," Autolycus enunciated. "You know. You are a thief, right? This is what we call shop talk." He paused. "Frankly, watching you just sit there with all your might is not my idea of a good time. I'm trying to inject some life into the atmosphere here, so it'd be nice if you'd help me out a little here. So what's the biggest job you ever pulled?" 

"You show me yours, I'll show you mine?" Iolaus let his eyelid drop down again with as much finality as could be packed into such a minute gesture. "I don't think so." 

"That bad, huh?" Autolycus clucked sympathetically. "I guess I don't blame you for not wanting to discuss it with the master. After all, anything you pulled will naturally seem inferior next to my own daring exploits. But still--" 

"I said I don't want to talk about it." 

"Aw, come on. There's gotta be _something_ you're proud of. What, nothing? You poor boy--" 

Iolaus' fists slammed down onto the hard-packed dirt. He leaned forward, blue eyes open and blazing and boring into Autolycus's with barely contained fury. Autolycus broke off, taken aback. 

"You just never know when to stop, do you?" Iolaus demanded, his voice low and angry. "You always have to keep _pushing_ people--" 

"I happen to resent that," Autolycus said mildly, once his heart started beating again. The fellow certainly had a short fuse on him. Great; he was rooming with the poster boy for the anti-Furies campaign. Just say no, kids. "I have a great deal of self-control, thank you very much. I always know exactly when to stop." 

"Couldn't prove it by me. It's like you're deliberately trying to piss me off." 

He grinned. "Why ever would you think that, I wonder?" 

Iolaus sighed. "Not unless you were deliberately trying to piss me off... oh, that's just great. Fan-fucking-tastic. Just what I need." He slouched back, hunching his shoulders and looking oddly like a grumpy turtle. 

"Whine, whine, whine," Autolycus said. "That's gratitude for ya." 

"Gratitude!" Iolaus exclaimed. The look of outrage on his face was almost comical. "Gratitude for what? What on the gods' flat earth have you done that I should be grateful for?" 

Autolycus tilted his head back against the wall, peering down his nose at the other thief. "You," he announced, "are in the presence of the King of Thieves. For a thief of your obviously lowly stature, that should be an incredible honor--" 

Iolaus groaned. "I'm gonna be sick." 

"Sick with envy, no doubt," Autolycus said complacently. This was way too much fun. 

"Oh, for the gods' sakes." Iolaus ran his hands through his hair. "Just-- just shut up, would you? You, of all the people. I can't take much more of this." He leaned back and closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath, obviously determined to end the conversation there. 

"Oh yeah? What are you gonna do, mope me to death? 'Oh, my life is so hard, I don't wanna talk about it, I can't take it anymore--'" 

"You wanna try me?" Iolaus said darkly. "Keep talking and you'll find out." 

"Oh, big man," Autolycus said with a grin. "Figuratively speaking, of course... why, I'm simply quaking in my boots." 

Iolaus' shoulders twitched. "I really don't give a damn what you're doing in your boots, as long as you do it quietly." 

"What, you need to get in some real quality brooding time? Don't worry, I'm sure you'll hit your growth spurt any day now--" 

"All right, that's it--" 

Iolaus's reaction took him by surprise, although, in retrospect, it probably shouldn't have. Still, at the time all he knew was that the fun was over and Iolaus was lunging for him, knocking him back against the wall with enough force to make the back of his skull bounce. His forehead smashed into Iolaus's on the rebound, momentarily stunning the both of them; they went over sideways in a heap on the floor, Autolycus once again sprawled out on top. Iolaus recovered first, wrestling him over with grim determination. Autolycus did his best to hold his own but soon discovered that he was at something of a disadvantage, being the only one of them who was, essentially, handicapped. 

Before long he found himself thrown on his back on the floor with one quick, bone-jarring movement that sent vicious tongues of fire through his chest. Iolaus knelt over him with one leg on either side of his body, hands planted on his shoulders, holding him down and sending another stab of pain through his arrow wound. He raised his hands, grasping Iolaus's wrists, digging his fingernails as hard as he could into the soft flesh and tensed muscle. This close up Autolycus had an intimate view of the lines etched around the Iolaus's eyes and mouth, the blinding, distant fury in his eyes-- 

"Now wait," Autolycus gasped, his voice surprisingly steady to his own ears, "you wouldn't hurt an injured man, now would you?" 

Iolaus just stared down at him and, after a minute, said, "Try me." But the fury was gone, and he loosened his grip on Autolycus's shoulders, raising his hands to inspect the tiny, jagged tears in his skin with a kind of rueful resignation. He sat back, and Autolycus scooted away from him as quickly as he could, sitting up against the wall once more and trying not to wince at the burn in his ribs. He rotated his throbbing shoulder, scowling at the pain. 

He was stuck for the foreseeable future with a homicidal manic-depressive. His life was showing a very disturbing trend towards the cursed lately. 

"Sheesh," Autolycus muttered after a moment. "Touchy guy." 

"Wimp," Iolaus said, though he sounded almost apologetic. Almost. 

"Hey, my hands are very delicate instruments. I prefer not to have to slam them into objects as obviously rock-hard as your skull." 

"Sure," Iolaus said. "Whatever you say." 

He sat back again, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. This time, Autolycus didn't comment. 

* * *

They surrounded the bottom of the temple steps, carrying weapons and torches. Both men and women, their faces were scarred from battle, their bodies lean and fit and hardened. They were the best of the Conqueror's local army. 

"The temple is closed," Tiro said, in his best priest voice-- calm, carrying without being loud. "Come back in the morning." 

"We're not here to worship, old man," one of the soldiers called. "We're here for you." 

"In that case, allow me to remind you that this is holy land, and any violence committed on these grounds will be violating the decree of the god Hermes." A mere formality, he was sure-- the threat of Hermes simply didn't carry as much weight with the people in general as, say, Ares did-- but he felt better for having said it. 

The man who had spoken just laughed. He was tall and solidly built, with long brown hair pulled back from his face. "The wrath of Hermes can't compare to that of the Conqueror," he said. "You don't scare us, holy man." 

The woman standing next to him-- slender, with blond hair and harsh features-- raised her torch and yelled, "There doesn't have to be any violence here, if you just tell us what we want to know!" 

"That depends on what you want to know," the priest answered swiftly. 

"The locations of the thief Autolycus and the thief Iolaus." 

Tiro shook his head. "The credit you give me for such knowledge is flattering, in your own primitive sort of way. Let me assure you--" 

"We know you know," the man with the dark hair interrupted, his voice menacing. "Autolycus was seen running here, and was seen in your temple as well. So don't think you can lie your way out of this one, holy man." 

Silently Tiro cursed Autolycus-- the maniac just couldn't resist speaking up and letting himself be seen, could he? "I sent him on his way. I don't know where he is." 

The man grinned viciously. "Try again." 

Tiro pursed his lips. "You just want to know where they are? And then you'll leave me be?" 

"Yes," the blond woman said quickly, shooting her male counterpart a warning glare. 

He shook his head again. "Violence it is." 

So, okay, there's no way I can win this, he thought. But if they want to take me, they're damned well going to work for it. 

The male ringleader barked out an order, and the soldiers swarmed up the steps. Tiro knew fighting was futile, but he couldn't just give up the way he'd planned. Something deep down inside him rebelled at the very idea. And it wasn't like he would gain anything by going along quietly, anyway. 

He swung, and two men went down, but two more grabbed his arms and lifted him off the ground. Tiro kicked another advancing soldier in the face, but he simply didn't have the leverage to break free from those who held him. The fight, it seemed, was over before it had even begun. 

All of a sudden a yell split the night, and a figure vaulted through the double doors and launched itself at the soldiers. The newcomer's boots slammed into the backs of the two men who held the priest, and they dropped him, startled. Tiro fell to the marble floor and glared up at his rescuer. 

"Sorry, Dad," Agamede said, "you know I'm not good at following orders." 

The army began to advance again. 

"Stop!" the priest called, and some of them actually did. "Wait! Let me talk to her. Then you can do whatever you like." 

There was a moment of indecision. 

"Let them talk," the blond woman said sharply. 

"What are you doing?" Agamede demanded, bewildered. Her fists were drawn up in a defensive stance. 

He rose with a quick, smooth movement and grabbed her arm. "Agamede, listen to me. We cannot possibly, under any circumstances, win this. Now when I said I wouldn't let you die for me, dear, I wasn't just making a joke." 

"I know," she said glumly. "You never make jokes. But you were fighting!" 

His lips twisted into something resembling a smile. He didn't imagine it was a very pleasant one. "I was trying to make a last stand. One, I might add, which you ruined entirely." 

Agamede raised her pointed chin. "I'm not apologizing." 

"Of course you're not. Consider this, at least--" He lowered his voice, hoping the soldiers wouldn't hear. "As long as the Conqueror has me, she'll be preoccupied with trying to get me to talk, and she won't be looking for these men by other, more divine means, if you catch my drift-- what is it?" 

His daughter looked appalled. "Oh, Dad, I don't think--" 

Tiro swore under his breath; logic, obviously, had not been the best tactic to use. "Please. Just trust me." 

She scowled at him. "Why should I? You don't trust me." 

"Yes, and it's my mistake. I changed my mind; I trust you fully now. And besides--" He hesitated, nearly choking on the words, still debating whether or not he should say them. 

He swallowed hard, then forced it out. "Besides, you have a... wedding to look forward to." 

After all, he thought with a mental sigh, it's not like I'll live to see it, anyway. And she might as well be happy, bizarre though the choice may be. 

Agamede just blinked at him for a few minutes. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Then she said in a small voice, sounding seven again instead of seventeen (and seventeen was young enough; by Hermes, she was still a child), "Okay." 

"Okay?" 

"Yeah." Agamede paused, then blurted out all in a rush, like she was afraid they'd take him away before she had a chance to say everything, "I'll wait here for you. I'm staying here till you're safe. Sileia's coming here to me, and we'll both wait for you, and then we'll go have the wedding right away, just us. When you come back." 

Tiro smiled wryly and kissed his daughter on the cheek. Then he turned and walked down the steps, his hands raised above his head. 

"That was sickening," the blond woman said. 

He didn't look at her. "You didn't have to watch." 

Tiro didn't look back at his daughter, either. If he had, he might have told her that she would probably end up waiting for a long, long time. 

* * *

"I'm bored," Autolycus said. 

Iolaus didn't look at him. "How shocking." 

Autolycus scowled. He was tired of the silence, and the way it seemed to magnify his thoughts-- the way the day's events were suddenly catching up to him, all in a rush, all at once. 

After a while, the one-roomed, dirt-floored house had become less stifling and more, well, cozy. It was, after all, as safe as a safehouse could get, and a far sight better than Autolycus's original plans, which by this time would have put him somewhere off the road to Megara and wide awake, listening for the sounds of an approaching army. Of course, the company still left a great deal to be desired. 

The room was moonlit and candlelit, the silvery light streaming in through the window sharp-edged by the flickering orange glow that danced in the corner shadows. Autolycus eyed the other occupant of the room speculatively. Iolaus was still sitting on the floor, eyes closed, unmoving, barely even breathing. Watching someone imitate a wooden post for extended periods of time wasn't Autolycus's usual idea of entertainment, but there was nothing much to do except watch and think, and having no inclination to do the latter he contented himself with the former, studying their small confines and finding that his eyes always returned to the still figure in the corner of the room. 

He couldn't completely ignore the workings of his overactive mind, however, and before long he felt the need to break the silence again. 

Some small part of him, possibly the part that included his still-sore shoulder, decided to be non-antagonistic about it for once. 

"Let me ask you something," he said. 

Without opening his eyes, Iolaus said, "I'd really rather you didn't." 

"Tough, 'cause I'm about to anyway." Autolycus propped his chin up on his hand and watched as Iolaus reluctantly unfolded his legs and turned to face him. Even in the near-total darkness, Iolaus looked irritated. 

Autolycus said, "So if it wasn't actually you who stole the Stone, then why are you here?" 

Iolaus sighed and looked down, rubbing at the back of his head. "Conqueror wants me," he muttered. 

Autolycus rolled his eyes. "No shit, Socrates. What I'm saying is, why does she want you? You're not exactly big time, or am I mistaken?" This last was said in a tone that implied that he was never mistaken. 

"I don't know!" Iolaus gave a quick, frustrated shrug and glanced up. Autolycus cocked one eyebrow, and he sighed again. "No, I'm not big time, you're right about that. I'm strictly a bread-and-butter thief. It's just-- I've been gone, okay, in the east, for... a while now. I only just got back last year, and when I did, I found this Xena the Conqueror in power, and that she had a standing price on my head-- why, I have no idea. All I've done is grab some trinkets here and there, and that's hardly bounty-worthy." 

"Not necessarily the case," Autolycus said, "if you're doing it right. On the other hand, a few dinars here and a few portable, easily resellable items there aren't likely to catch the attention of anyone important." He watched the other thief avidly, with more than a little curiosity. The flickering firelight made it hard to read his features, but there was something in Iolaus's face that made him think he wasn't quite telling the whole truth. 

"I happen to think I am doing it right," Iolaus said coolly. "I'm getting by, and at least I'm not getting caught." 

"The sign of a true lack of ambition," Autolycus said. Catching Iolaus's look, he added quickly, "Although that is certainly not the point right now." 

"_Even so_," Iolaus said, through gritted teeth, "it hasn't really been a problem till now. Avoiding law enforcement isn't anything new for me, but if I'd known _she_ was gonna be here I never would have come, not when she's got practically her entire army in town. I was just in a tavern, minding my own business and paying with my own money even, when a couple of guards spotted me. I ran, and I kind of got dead-ended in an alley. Tiro was there, gods know why, and he offered to help me escape, and of course I said sure, great, so he brought me here, and you know the rest." 

"How long ago was that?" 

"About a week now." 

Autolycus's eyebrows shot up. "Sheesh, I forgive you. You have every right to be a gloomy bastard. I can't believe you've been in this dump for a whole week." 

Iolaus was mouthing something silently, looking half annoyed and half bemused; after a moment, he said, "Well, the general idea was to wait until she left town and then make a break for it. That was before all this happened. And I've spent practically the whole week trying to get out, so I think I can safely say it's impossible," he added pointedly. 

"You really think she's gonna stop looking for us any time soon?" 

"Probably not," Iolaus admitted. "We're both on her hit list now. We'll just have to corner Tiro the next time he comes and convince him to let us take our chances." 

"Figuratively speaking," Autolycus said, "seeing that neither of us is in a position to corner anyone outside that door. What makes you think he'll listen? He's stubborn as a Centaur, you know." 

Iolaus shrugged. "We'll manage." 

"Hey, maybe I can lure him inside and then you tackle him. Seems something you're pretty good at--" 

"I'm told," Iolaus said, "that I have a way with words." 

"Are you sure they said 'words'? You sure it wasn't, oh, I don't know, 'fists'?" 

"Well, yes," Iolaus said. "That too." 

Silence descended once again. Autolycus continued to stare at Iolaus; he felt his forehead wrinkle in a half-frown, and made a concerted effort to smooth it out. It was, after all, all about appearance, and right now he was doing his best to appear unfazed by Iolaus' earlier attack of insanity. If Iolaus was unhinged as well.... Well, this is just great, he thought, I'm surrounded by lunatics. 

Iolaus certainly didn't look crazy. Not at the moment. He didn't even look real; in his current position, with that dark, contemplative expression, he seemed somehow like a shade that couldn't find its way to the other side. The candle was burning low, and Autolycus wondered, apropos of nothing, how many others were stored away, and if they'd ever run out. 

Then Iolaus caught him looking and shifted his weight, looking almost embarrassed, and the illusion was gone. Autolycus blinked, and Iolaus broke the quiet. "This guy looks like me?" 

"Exactly," Autolycus said immediately. "Well, his hair was shorter, now that I think about it, and he was wearing a different vest-- no more attractive than yours, I might add-- but other than that... yeah, exactly." 

"I had a cousin who looked like me," Iolaus said. He paused. "Except he's dead." 

"Well, then it probably wasn't him." 

"No, probably not." 

Another silence. 

"So you have no idea what the Conqueror wants from you?" 

"The pleasure of my charming personality?" Iolaus suggested. 

Autolycus smirked again. "Yeah, and Cerberus is really a friendly yet misunderstood little pup--" 

"Right. I told you, I have no idea, I've never even met the...." He paused, then said dryly, "Lady. Could be it was the other me who pissed her off." 

"Maybe," Autolycus allowed. "Now, if it was me, we'd know why-- I am, after all, the--" 

"King of Thieves, yes, who just so happened to get caught. Not much of a threat, were you?" 

An ugly line of tension scored through the previously relaxed atmosphere of the room. Autolycus narrowed his eyes. "Hey. So I was having an off day, okay?" 

"King of Thieves," Iolaus repeated. His upper lip curled and he leaned forward, the firelight fully illuminating his features for the first time; he looked almost feral. "Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?" 

"Well, yeah, Curly, when you say it. But I figured that was due to its coming out of your mouth." Autolycus felt his left hand curl into a fist, the nails biting into the soft flesh of his palm, and forced himself to relax. 

"Stealing for the glory of it," Iolaus said. That same unsettling light was back in his eyes. "That's just... well, stupid is a good word. We'll stick with stupid." 

"There you go again, ruining a perfectly good concept by opening your mouth," Autolycus snapped. "It's a living, and I do always take pride in my work." This is incredible, he thought. We just can't leave it alone, can we? "You just _wish_ you were half as good as I am." 

"Keep dreaming, pal," Iolaus said harshly. "I just don't get how you can be so-- so--" 

"Attractive, debonair, and good at what I do?" 

"No," Iolaus said, "I don't think that's what I was gonna say at all. You're so fucking pompous about the whole thing. You can just do no wrong, can you? I mean, what we do, stealing, it's a job. Just like any other. Just a means to an end." 

"_Au contraire_," Autolycus countered. "As the Gauls would say. It's not _just_ anything-- it's an art." 

Iolaus snorted. "Oh, come on, you can't really think that every thief--" 

"Well, you see," Autolycus said, "just as in any job-- calling, really-- there are those who create great works of art, and then there are those who paint retch-inducing pictures of sickeningly bug-eyed baby Moirae on swaths of black velvet and then just _call_ it art." 

Iolaus shook his head. "That's just--" 

"Unbelievably accurate?" 

"_Pathetic_." 

"All right, let's put it another way, shall we? I happen to be enjoying my life, while you happen to be moping around here all glum and introspective and meditating whatever tiny bits of personality you actually have right out your ear all day. Now who's having more fun?" 

"Fun," Iolaus echoed. "Is that what it is? Well, it was fun for me, for a while. And then I grew a brain. So don't tell me what I'm missing out on, because I know very well." He yanked off his boots and laid back on his bedroll, every silhouetted line of his body radiating barely-suppressed anger. 

Autolycus studied him. It was getting to be something of a habit. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. 

"You know, I don't think you do know." 

There was a moment of silence, and then Iolaus' tight "What are you talking about?" 

"You're a bread-and-butter thief, you said so yourself. What do you do now, rob jewelry stands, pick pockets to survive? Nothing really large scale, am I right?" The silence was all the answer he needed. "You're barely even a real thief. Tell me, have you ever even planned a major theft? A museum, or a royal treasury-- planned it down to every last detail and then pulled it off, all by yourself? I didn't think so. You've never felt that thrill, that sense of accomplishment. It is just a job to you, because you have nothing important to be proud of, and you, my friend, have _no_ idea what I'm talking about." 

It took Iolaus a moment to reply, and for that moment Autolycus thought he wasn't going to. Then he growled, "Yeah, well, some of us aren't total drama queens about it, I'll have you know. In the gang I was in--" 

"Oh, a _gang_," Autolycus said. He was in control now, and it felt good. Physical intimidation may have been Iolaus' forte, short though he was; verbal intimidation was Autolycus's, and now he was getting some of his own back. "See, that's the difference between you and me. I never went in much for the mob mentality." 

"It wasn't a mob," Iolaus said angrily. "We were just... a group of people. Looking out for each other." 

"And stabbing each other in the back first chance they get, yes, I know how gangs work. Tell me, if this gang of yours was so fantastic, then whyever did you leave?" 

The shadow that was Iolaus shifted slightly; when he spoke again, his voice was muffled. "Forget it." 

"No, really, I want to know. I'm very, very interested--" 

"I said forget it," Iolaus snapped. "Look, all I'm saying is that stealing's just a living, okay? It's not the foundations of modern civilization or anything--" 

"Oh boy," Autolycus said. "Don't you know anything about history?" 

"Okay, bad choice of words. But I steal to survive. That's why I started it, and I was good at it, and it was all I knew. And it was a lot more _fun_ than, say, farming. But now I just wish I'd done something else." 

"And yet you're still doing it, all these years later," Autolycus pointed out. "What, don't you have any marketable skills?" 

"It's a little late for me to change my career path, don't you think? And then there's you, waving that title of yours around like it's some sort of actual weapon, like it's practically your real job, living up to it. You show it off like you're in it just to be the best at something, like stealing's some sort of weekend pursuit of yours, like you actually had a choice--" 

"Choice!" Autolycus spat. His stomach twisted in on itself; he felt his vision becoming slightly blurred, felt his control slipping steadily away. All of a sudden the words were pouring out of him, like a river bursting through an old, rotted dam. 

"Oh, that would've been nice, wouldn't it, to have a choice? To not have grown up without a father, to not have watched my mother die when I was eight and found my older brother murdered when I was twelve. Would've been nice if the world was just wide open to a twelve-year-old with nothing to his name. It would've been just _fantastic_ if I could've chosen to be the man I am today, but unfortunately, Blondie, things just don't work that way. See, you and me started out the same way. The difference is, I like what I'm doing, while you're honing your 'woe is me' routine and generally acting like an extra from Euripides's more maudlin plays. But I didn't choose it, and I certainly didn't choose to--" 

He broke off then, angry and more than a little bewildered. He knew, without a doubt, that whatever game they'd been playing, he'd just spectacularly lost. He wasn't sure if Iolaus had been trying to get a rise out of him or not, but in this case as in most others, intentions weren't worth crap. 

Well, shit. So much for famous self-control. 

"If you'll excuse me," he said coldly, into the uncomfortable silence, "or not, I really don't care, I've had a very long day and I think I want to go to sleep now." 

Autolycus grabbed the other bedroll and dragged it to the opposite side of the room. He fluffed it viciously, then yanked his boots off and laid back. 

Iolaus's bedroll rustled as he shifted positions. 

"Besides," Autolycus said under his breath, "I earned that title." 

"Sounds like that other me's got you beat." 

"Yeah, and that kind of attitude is exactly why as soon as I'm out of here I'm finishing what I started." 

His words surprised even him, but there really wasn't anything else he could do, was there? The title was really all he had that mattered. All he'd ever earned that wasn't spent again within a fortnight. Autolycus had been the King of Thieves for so long, he wasn't sure how not to be, and he certainly didn't want to find out. And as long as he'd failed where someone else had succeeded, however half-assedly, he wouldn't be the King of Thieves. 

Autolycus had to steal from the Conqueror, one way or another. Some things just couldn't be helped. 

So he was taken aback when Iolaus sat straight up and stared at him with wide eyes. "You're what?" 

"What part of 'I'm gonna rob the bitch' don't you understand? After all, defending the title _is_ a full-time job." 

Iolaus' eyes narrowed. "Fine, go ahead. Like I give a fuck what you do with yourself, anyway. Just wait till I'm gone before you go commit suicide." With that, he flopped back down on his side, pointedly facing away. 

Autolycus' smile faded and he stared at Iolaus' rigid back, wondering what exactly had just happened. After a moment he shrugged it off and closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep. 

* * *

The problem with women in power, Tiro decided, was that women really knew how to hurt people. 

In his experience, male rulers were mainly concerned with more money and more power, and Tartarus take everything else. They didn't bother dealing with their people; they had tax collectors for that. They didn't know how to wrap people to get what they wanted, so they sent the muscle out to do it instead, and generally got the job done, to a certain extent, beyond which Tiro always managed to keep himself and his own interests. But women.... 

Women, or at least the women he'd known, understood human nature. And because of that, they knew how to inflict the most pain if necessary, and they knew just which string to pull when they wanted you to dance. And that was why they were dangerous as rulers, when it was actually the women doing the ruling and not posing as figureheads for the real power. Tiro preferred sovereigns he could slip around to the side of if need be. 

So ran his thoughts, certainly generalized but no less fervent for it, as he stood, surrounded by soldiers, waiting for the Conqueror. It was late, he was tired, and it was taking the last of his nerve to stand perfectly still and emotionless; and the Conqueror was, he was sure, very much aware of exactly what effect her delay was having. 

Pulling his strings.... 

Finally, when he thought he was about to crack, Xena arrived. 

There was something about the Conqueror that made her seem larger than life. Even now, with her feet bare and her long dark hair loose around her paint-free face, wrapped in nothing more than an embroidered red robe, she looked somehow very solid, very overwhelming, very _there_. When she stepped into a room, she seemed to expand to fill every corner of it. Just by walking through the door she commanded the hushed, undivided attention of all present. 

Tiro watched her entrance, betraying no expression. The Conqueror stopped just inside the doorway and swept her cold blue eyes over the throne room, taking in the scene before her-- Tiro, with his hands tied in front of him, flanked by armed guards on either side. 

"Let me guess," she said finally, her voice a low drawl. "You're not going to tell me what I want to know tonight, are you?" 

Tiro shook his head. 

"Good. I expected nothing less." Xena gestured carelessly; the soldiers started to lead the priest out of the room. "We'll get started tomorrow morning," she added, as though they were discussing something as innocuous as basket weaving, and not the prospect of torture. Tiro lowered his eyebrows, disgusted. 

As he passed her, the corners of her mouth curled upwards, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking. Stonily, Tiro stared straight ahead. 

Then Xena the Conqueror, Destroyer of Nations, turned and padded, barefoot, back to bed. 

* * *

That night, Agamede prayed. 

It wasn't something she usually did. She had, somewhat typically for a priest's daughter, grown up non-religious, verging on anti-religious. Agamede didn't trust the gods and she especially didn't trust the god of her father-- Hermes, patron of tricksters and thieves. After all, the entire basis of his godliness was that he wasn't a very trustworthy one, and by god standards, she felt that was saying a lot. Sileia, her fiancee, was a devotee of Artemis, but that at least Agamede has a grudging respect for. Sileia hadn't been pushed into it by her parents; in fact, she'd had to defy them to follow the faith of her choice. 

Agamede had never really prayed before. She had gone through the motions while still at home, to make her father happy, and she hadn't bothered once she'd left with Sileia, and she'd never really felt like anyone was paying attention anyway because she'd never had anything to say. 

This time, however, she knelt in the middle of the inner chamber of the temple, closed her eyes, and focused her mind. 

"We both know I'm not very good at this," she began. "Um. I have an offering-- I stole it on the way here. I thought that was kind of appropriate. And you'd better appreciate that, 'cause I promised Leia I wouldn't steal anymore after the wedding. Unless it was absolutely necessary. Not for fun, anyway. So enjoy that, although what a god would do with gold I haven't the faintest, but I'm sure you'll figure something out." 

Agamede realized she was babbling and forced herself to stop and wait. She didn't get an answer, and she hadn't really expected to, but she had the strangest feeling that someone was actually... listening. 

She didn't like it one bit. 

Agamede cleared her throat and dropped the sack of liberated gold coins on the floor in front of her. Then, with a sudden guilty start, she quickly rose and scooped up the sack again, walked across the room, and dropped it on the altar. 

Nothing happened. 

She sighed. "Okay. Here's the thing. If you're there-- and I should hope you are, 'cause it's your high priest that's in trouble here-- if you're really listening, I have a favor to ask. And it's not for me, it's for my dad." 

She paused. Was Hermes listening? She wasn't so sure anymore. 

"Just... watch over him, okay?" she said finally, lamely. "Look, my dad devoted his life to you, okay? 'Cause... I don't really know why. Because you're his kind of god, I guess. He admires you. He really... truly... worships you. And I don't really understand it, but I'm not condemning it either. But the thing is... I don't think it's too much to say that you owe it to him to keep him safe. 

"Just...." Agamede trailed off and sighed. "I don't think I'm doing this right. Just, please, look out for him, and make sure that bitch the Conqueror doesn't hurt him. Because him and Leia are all I've got." 

She stood there for a few moments more, unsure if she should say any more, half-waiting for a sign of some sort. In keeping with a pattern, nothing happened. 

Agamede turned on her heel and marched out of the altar room, back to the living quarters in the rear of the temple. 

As soon as the door swung shut behind her, the sack of coins on the altar started to glow. Then, with a sound like faint, far-off snickering, it vanished. 

End Part 2 

_If you leave a review, Autolycus won't go to your house and steal all your shit. Granted, if you _don't_ leave a review that probably won't happen either, but it's the thought that counts._


	4. Chapter 3

"Half A Life" (3/11)  
by Maya Tawi 

_"Haven't I done enough today?  
Haven't I done enough this time?"  
-Sleater-Kinney_

Iolaus stretched and yawned, slowly drifting awake. He cracked one eye open; a stream of sunlight hit him directly in the face, and he groaned and rolled over, burying himself in his bedroll as best he could. 

A moment later he sat up, blinking and brushing his long hair out of his face. 

His unwilling housemate-- Autolycus, the self-declared King of Thieves-- was inspecting the window, uttering a soft, monotonous stream of curses. 

"Are you still at that?" Iolaus demanded. 

Autolycus sighed, slammed his fists against the invisible barrier keeping them from the outside, and rested his forehead between his hands. Then he straightened and turned to face Iolaus. 

"I have to do _something_," he said. "You know, maybe you can just sit around here all day masturbating, but I'm gonna find a way out of here." 

Iolaus rolled his eyes. "Ha ha, very funny," he said through clenched teeth. "Like I've never heard that one before. Like that joke-- 'What's the difference between meditating and masturbating? One of 'em you sit around holding your dick, and the other one you actually get off.' That kind of thing. It is _meditating_." 

Autolycus was staring at him. "That," he said, "is the stupidest joke I've heard in my entire life. And believe me, that's saying quite a lot. Besides--" He grinned. "That's not what I meant." 

Iolaus groaned again and flopped back down on the bedroll, covering his face with his arm. "I can't believe I'm stuck here with you," he complained. "Of all the people in the known world, why you? What did I ever do to the gods?" 

"Aw, quit yer whining." Autolycus turned back to the window. "You'll come around. I'm a very likable person." 

"Yeah, right." Iolaus scowled into the crook of his elbow. "What'd be the point? I mean, if you're just gonna go get yourself killed as soon as we get out, why sould I even bother trying to like you? Which, by the way, is a chore in itself. Likable my ass." 

He felt Autolycus's gaze on him and kept his arm over his own eyes, pointedly ignoring the stare. So the exalted King of Thieves couldn't figure out why Iolaus cared whether he lived or died. Well, he was in good company-- neither could Iolaus. 

It was infuriating, really. All throughout the previous evening Iolaus had been gearing up to hate his fellow thief with as fiery a passion as he could muster, and he was doing a good job of it, too; Autolycus was the kind of self-important, cocksure guy that people like Iolaus tended to hate on general principle, except that Autolycus went way beyond principle and made it personal. And then the bastard had to go and launch a catapult like the one he'd let fly the night before, and all of a sudden Iolaus found himself thinking of him as an actual human being. 

Granted, Iolaus had been probing for some sort of unguarded reaction. He just hadn't been expecting what he'd gotten. 

Likable... maybe it wasn't such a far-fetched concept after all. 

The feeling of intense eyes on him faded, and he uncovered his face and sat up once more. Autolycus had turned back to the window, and Iolaus found himself staring at the back of his head. Autolycus's dark hair was sticking out at all angles, and his green tunic was almost fatally wrinkled, but there was still something.... 

He shook his head. Get a grip, Iolaus, he ordered himself. He may not be bad to look at, but he's arrogant, majorly egotistical, and as irritating as Sisyphus's damned rock. Hardly your type. 

Then there was the little voice inside him that piped up, Get a grip? Love to. 

"There's gotta be an opening somewhere," Autolycus was saying. "We're not suffocating, so air is getting in and out--" 

"That's what's bothering you?" Iolaus scooped up a handful of dirt and tossed it out the window. It sailed through unimpeded, scattering over the ground outside. 

Off Autolycus's narrow-eyed, irritated look, he explained, "Anyhing that's not alive can make it through the barrier. Those of us with heartbeats aren't quite so lucky." 

Autolycus closed his eyes, looking pained, then faced the window and very deliberately smacked his forehead against the barrier. Then he said, "Ow." 

"Well, imagine that. You're not brain-dead enough after all," Iolaus said. "Look, I understand wanting to be able to get out, but could you try and wrap your mind around the concept? We're safe here. Prone to die from boredom, maybe, but safe from the Conqueror at least. Even if you could get out, frankly you look like a dead pharaoh at the moment, what with all the bandages, and from the way you're moving I'd say you're just as mobile. Would you please just relax?" Then he scowled. "You've already given me a headache, and I think it's getting worse. I mean, I know you think I'm incompetent or something-- funny thing, by the way, when you're the injured one here-- but I have been over this place a million times, and trust me when I say there _is no way out_." 

There was a moment of silence. Iolaus watched from under lowered eyelids as Autolycus slid slowly down the wall to a sitting position, resting his chin on his knees. "Yes," he said finally, with a sigh. "Well. There you go. That's it, then, isn't it." 

"Pretty much, yeah." 

"And people wonder why I don't worship Hermes like all the other good little thieves. I'm telling you, it's shit like this, that's why. He's a slippery bastard-- and don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with that-- but what's the point if you can't even rely on him? All the gods-- they just screw around with your life, just for fun. The only one you can ever really trust is yourself, that's what I say. You start relying on the gods or anyone else and that's when the trouble starts." Throughout his entire speech Autolycus didn't move, just kept staring blankly at some spot in the dirt just beyond his boots. 

Iolaus opened his mouth to say something, then hesitated and bit his lip, changing his mind. "Hey, uh, listen," he offered instead, "I, uh, kinda wanted to say... well, sorry for being such an asshole last night. I'm not usually like that." After all, it wouldn't hurt to be civil. 

"Sure," Autolycus said, "well, I should hope not. You know, I'd watch that if I were you." 

Or maybe it would hurt after all. 

"Now that's more like it," a new voice boomed. "For a minute there I thought I was gonna hafta toss 'em." 

The two thieves immediately leaped to their feet; Iolaus saw Autolycus stumble and fall heavily to his knees. They both turned to gape at a spot in the middle of the room. 

A middle-aged, red-faced, slightly rounded man stood there, watching them with an expression of mingled amusement and disdain. As they stared, he raised his eyebrows and smirked. "Hi there." 

Autolycus rose again, much more carefully this time. When he spoke, his words came out as little more than a squeak. "Do I... know you?" 

"Well, ya should," the man said. "This is my house you're standin' in." 

Abruptly, Iolaus sat down again. 

The newcomer rolled his eyes. "Are you guys trying to make me seasick?" 

Autolycus's voice rose impossibly higher. "You're... um... you're Hermes?" 

The maybe-god furrowed his brow and hastily patted his face, as though making sure he was still the same person he'd been when he'd woken up that morning, assuming gods woke up from anything. Assuming he was a god. Then, apparently satisfied, he spread his hands. "Seems so." 

Iolaus shook his head, then looked again. The scene still hadn't changed. 

Great, he thought, the god thinks he's a comedian. 

Of course, he'd never actually met Hermes in person or anything, but he'd seen the statues. And this middle-aged, red-faced, rounded man looked nothing like the images of the long-haired naked teenager on display outside Tiro's temple. Iolaus certainly wouldn't want to see this guy sans toga. Still, the way he'd just materialized out of thin air like that was definitely very godlike... and the house was, supposedly, off limits to other gods.... 

He glanced over at Autolycus again. Judging from his deadly white pallor, the King of Thieves was recalling, in painful detail, just what he'd been saying a minute ago. His lips moved silently-- counting down his last precious moments before being blasted into oblivion, perhaps. To Iolaus's mild surprise, the prospect wasn't nearly as attractive as he'd thought it would be. 

Sensing the confusion, Hermes said, "It's the look, isn't it. You don't approve." He snapped his fingers, and suddenly there was the naked teenager standing in front of them. Inevitably, Iolaus felt his eyes drop to about waist-height, and he vaguely noticed that a wide-eyed Autolycus was doing the same thing. One thing was for sure-- the statues didn't exaggerate. 

"This better?" Another snap, and now Hermes was a red-haired man in his mid-twenties, dressed in shepherd's clothes. "Or this?" Snap-- a boy of six or so, wearing a child's rags. "How 'bout this?" He snapped his fingers one last time, morphing back into his original form. "I'm diggin' this look right now. Lets me blend in with the crowd, if you get my meaning." 

Hermes paused, looking at the two thieves with mild vexation. "Man, you guys are really lousy conversationalists, you know that?" 

Iolaus stood for a second time, finding his voice. He had to prod it a bit to get it going, but eventually he managed to say, "Um. If you could just clear something up for us... do you, or do you not, intend to blow my friend here into messy little bits?" 

He saw Autolycus's eyes narrow at the word "friend" and bit his lip to keep from swearing aloud. That was definitely not what he'd meant. 

Hermes gazed at the dark-haired thief. Under his penetrating stare, Autolycus started to squirm. "I'm not worth it," he said plaintively. "Really I'm not. I'm--" 

"Not anybody important?" Iolaus suggested, when Autolycus fumbled for words. Presumably his pride wouldn't let him finish the sentence. 

Autolycus glared at him. "That is _not_ what I was going say, Blondie. If you'd just--" 

Hermes snickered, and they both froze, suddenly remembering their circumstances. "Aw, you guys are a trip and a half, lemme tell you," the god said with a smirk. Iolaus wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not, but seeing as Hermes didn't seem to be about to fry anyone, he decided to take it as a positive sign. "I was considering it, to tell the truth, but it just so happens I need you both. Consider yourself lucky, kid," he added to Autolycus. 

The King of Thieves smiled weakly. "You got it." Then his eyes narrowed. "No, but wait a minute, what do you need us for exactly?" 

Hermes scowled. "You know, most people would be thrilled at the chance--" 

"I'm just asking--" 

"Ignore him, he's disturbed," Iolaus said quickly. 

Autolycus glared at him. "Yeah, and you're the one disturbing me, buddy." 

"Enough! Hades in Tartarus, this gets old quick." The god glowered at the two thieves. They shut up. 

"Do I have your total attention here? Good." Hermes rubbed his hands together. "Now I'm gonna let the two of you out of here, on one very important condition." 

"Uh, excuse me," Autolycus interrupted, "does this by any chance involve permanent scarring of any kind? 'Cause I gotta warn you, me and pain, we don't get along very well." 

Iolaus rolled his eyes. 

Hermes' eyes narrowed. "It will if you don't shut up and listen." He started to pace. "Now-- and you'll probably be surprised to hear this, although you really shouldn't-- one of my high priests has been taken by this Conqueror of yours. Yeah, that's right," he added, as Autolycus's face took on an expression of surprise and guilt, the latter looking uncomfortable on his normally confident face. In fact, the King of Thieves looked almost physically ill. Iolaus felt the exact same way. 

"Didn't think of that, did we?" the god continued. "Now normally I'd say you mortals are a dinar a dozen and leave it at that, but it just so happens I don't have that many high priests and I'd like to keep the ones I do have. And besides, I received a very odd prayer last night from a very stubborn girl who didn't seem to like me that much...." He trailed off. 

Autolycus blanched. "Agamede knows? How does Agamede know?" 

"Is that her name? I kind of liked her." 

"Hang on," Iolaus said. "Who's Agamede?" 

"Tiro's daughter," Autolycus said absently, not taking his eyes off the god. "A couple years ago she left home, they had a fight over-- well, that's not important right now. She's here, isn't she?" he demanded. "When did she get here?" 

"Do I look like a Day-Timer to you?" Hermes retorted. At the mortals' blank looks, he heaved a huge sigh. "Look, I don't have time for this right now, so we'll just get right down to it if that's okay with you two. The fact is, pal, you and Goldilocks here are gonna do something for me." All of a sudden he was grinning a not-so-nice grin. Iolaus's stomach started to sink towards his toes. 

"Our Aggie here wants me to look after her daddy. Now it's funny how that works out, because this Xena's pretty much under Ares's domain, meaning I can't directly interfere. So what's gonna happen is that you two are gonna rescue him. Do--" 

"Whoa, whoa, hold the chariot," Autolycus interrupted, sounding just a bit hysterical. Iolaus, for his part, was too bewildered to actually form a coherent thought. "Rescue him? First of all, you're outta your fucking mind, and second of all, the two of us? I don't think so. I don't play well with others." Then he paused, and added, "Er... your godliness." 

Iolaus covered his face with his hands. "You are such an idiot," he whispered, too softly for Autolycus to hear. 

"That's not what I heard," Hermes was saying, surprisingly not in the process of turning the King of Thieves into the Mother of All Messy Smears. 

"You know what I mean, you-- uh-- your greatness. I don't--" 

"Name's Hermes," the god said. "But I kinda like that. Keep going." 

Autolycus scowled and pressed on doggedly. "I don't _do_ partners." 

Hermes turned and inspected Iolaus from head to toe. "I don't see why not," he said, with a leer that gave the words an entirely new meaning. Iolaus felt his eyes widen, and he self-consciously adjusted his open vest, shifting his weight from one leg to another. Autolycus turned red. 

To give him credit, he was certainly the most persistent suicidal man Iolaus had ever met. He coughed once and said, "I didn't mean--" 

"I know what you damned well meant, you moron." Hermes shook his head. "You mortals are so incredibly dim.... Look, I don't care whether or not you usually have to pull jobs in a pink tutu to get 'em right, you're doing it my way this time. And that means you work together." 

"But--" 

"Nope. Now shut up, I'm not done. You two are going to do whatever it takes to get this guy freed and unharmed, and I do mean whatever it takes. If that means you have to trade yourselves for him, I wouldn't really give a flying fuck." 

Autolycus crossed his arms and scowled. "'All those who come to Hermes for asylum are blessed,'" he mimicked in a sing-song voice. 

Iolaus shook his head and covered his face again. "I think I'm just gonna give up now," he mumbled. 

"I guess I'm just a slippery bastard," Hermes said. "What can I say?" 

"'Just kidding' would definitely be a favorite right now." 

"Sorry," the god said, not sounding sorry at all. "However you may feel about Tiro at the moment, the fact is he was trying to save your pathetic mortal lives. I'm just askin' you goofs to return the favor." 

"But look, this is the Conqueror we're talking about here," Autolycus argued, as Iolaus watched through his spread fingers with rather detached interest. "She's not just going to let him slip through her fingers, and I don't particularly like the idea of getting caught again--" 

"Am I caring here? No? Didn't think so." Hermes leaned over and tapped Autolycus none-too-lightly on the head. Autolycus winced. "You were gonna go back and steal from her anyway, right? You'll just steal a person instead. Same boost to your rep." 

"You ever tried spending a person? Besides, she'll be expecting this. She wouldn't have expected--" Autolycus hesitated. "Um, I don't think, anyway. She'll have guards, archers--" 

"How many ways can I say I don't care?" Hermes folded his arms, annoyed. "Why am I still here arguing? You know, I so miss the old days, you just tell a mortal what to do and they hop to it, none of this incessant bitching--" 

"Wait, wait, wait," Autolycus said hurriedly, as the god started to snap his fingers. "Look, I'm hurt, all right?" He limped a little to demonstrate. "I can't be climbing up walls and rescuing people, even if I ever did the hero thing, which I don't--" 

"So you want someone to die because of what you did, is that it?" Hermes looked at him hard. Autolycus turned his head away, hiding his expression. Iolaus watched with interest. 

"Him too," Autolycus said finally, pointing to the blond thief, who had leaned back against the wall and folded his arms. "Not just me." 

"Hey," Iolaus said, as Hermes glanced in his direction. "Leave me out of this." 

Autolycus was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "All right. You've got a point. You are the god here, after all." 

Hermes preened slightly. "And don't you forget it, Sunshine." 

"Oh, I won't. I won't. The thing is, you see, I really am hurt. And I won't be much use to Tiro if I can barely get around, now will I?" 

The god looked exasperated. "Man," he said, shaking his head in disbelief, "you guys are really fragile, aren't you? Any little thing that comes along can do you in. I mean, look at you-- crippled by a bunch of rocks, for Zeus's sake. How do you guys even live as long as you do?" 

Autolycus may have intended to smile, but the expression on his face looked more like a pained grimace. "I don't know, but I'd certainly like to keep it that way." 

Iolaus snorted softly. "Couldn't prove it by me," he said under his breath. 

Hermes was looking Autolycus over consideringly. Then he stepped back, pointed at the King of Thieves with his right hand, and snapped his fingers. 

Autolycus looked apprehensive; then that apprehensiveness quickly gave way to panic, as he was enveloped in a bright glow that seemed to start from deep inside him and spread its way out. As Iolaus watched in fascination, the faint bruises dusting his face faded from sight, and the end of the bandage poking out of his shirt disappeared. The glow faded after a few seconds, and Autolycus rocked back warily on his heels, looking rather torn about this new development. 

"All healed?" Hermes asked unnecessarily. "Good. One last bit of information, then, and I'll be on my merry way. What was it now... oh, yes-- if you fail, or if the priest comes to serious harm, then I'm kicking you two straight into the arms of the Conqueror. Seems fair, don't you think?" 

Then he grinned, sharklike. "After all, I already spent the girl's money. I might as well hold up my end of the bargain." 

"Spent it on what, exactly?" Autolycus inquired. He looked even paler than before. 

Hermes shrugged. "Oh," he said, "you find stuff. You're free to go, by the way." 

He snapped his fingers, and he was gone. 

"So that's a god," Autolycus said after a bit. "They're not so bad." 

Iolaus scowled at him. He could feel a major headache coming on. 

"What," he said, in carefully measured tones, "did you think you were doing?" 

Autolycus waved his hand. "Aw, he wouldn't've killed me. Like the guy said-- he needs the both of us." 

"What are you up to now?" Iolaus asked, suspicious. 

Autolycus didn't look at him; his eyes were fixed on the closed door, and the promised freedom that lay beyond. He sounded offended. "Who says I'm up to anything? We're free. We can leave. I'm just enjoying the moment." 

Then he sidled to the front door, threw it open, and, in one quick movement, hopped over the threshold. 

"Free!" he repeated, in case Iolaus hadn't gotten it the first time. 

Iolaus followed more slowly, pondering the unfairness of it all. His first taste of freedom in a week and he couldn't enjoy it. 

"Much as I hate to burst your bubble," he said, once outside, "we're not exactly free yet." He and Autolycus started back along the path through the trees. 

Autolycus slung an arm over his shoulder; Iolaus shrugged it off irritably. "Iolaus, my small acquaintance-- oof!" 

A moment later he was on his back on the groud, staring up at an annoyed thief. "Enough with the short jokes," Iolaus said through clenched teeth. 

Autolycus smirked. "Ah. Comments about size are not appreciated?" 

Iolaus glowered down at him, then leaned over and grabbed his hand, hauling him to his feet. "Now that's better," Autolycus said, brushing himself off. "As I was saying, if there's one thing I've learned it's not to worry about the future. That kind of thing generally takes care of itself. We're here now, we're free, and hey, do you think we could make it to Chin before Mister Short Bald and Grumpy notices?" 

Caught off-guard, Iolaus stopped in mid-stride and gaped at him. "You can't be serious." 

"You're right, you're right. How about Siberia?" 

Iolaus just continued to stare. Autolycus sighed. "Look, I like Tiro, but going after him would be suicide, plain and simple. And I like my head right where it is, thanks. Now listen, the gods don't have as much power the father they get from Greece, so if we move our asses--" 

The fist smashing into his face obviously took him by surprise; he stumbled back and tripped, landing on his ass for the second time in under five minutes, his face contorted in an almost comical look of shock. 

Iolaus was just as bewildered at his own reaction. He stared at his whitened knuckles, then down at Autolycus, sprawled on the ground. What was wrong with him? He had spent the past ten years achieving control over his temper, and it had taken Autolycus all of ten seconds to break him. Sure, the guy was an asshole, but Iolaus liked the think that when dealing with assholes he usually didn't lead with his fists. 

Silence reigned. It was a perfectly idyllic morning-- birds chirping, sun shining, fresh breeze-- and Iolaus was already feeling sick. 

Wordlessly he turned and walked away. 

* * *

Autolycus leaned against a tree and crossed his arms, scowling. 

In front of him was a body of water, to small to even be called a pond. It was a puddle. But the locals took pride in it, called it the Lake of Hephaestus, claimed it had been formed when Hephaestus had made a lunge at Athena and the Athena had pushed him away, causing his seed to fall to earth. Or so he'd heard on his way through town. It didn't seem a very attractive story to Autolycus, but that was legends for you. 

Mid-morning sunlight gleamed on the water, turning the "lake" a bright golden color; it streamed through the surrounding trees to form crazy shadows on the dew-damp earth and shone off the blond hair of the small, muscled figure that crouched on the bank, absently tossing pebbles into the pond. 

Autolycus just watched for a while, until an unpleasant throbbing in his cheekbone reminded him of what had happened. He resisted the urge to reach up and prod the sore spot. The little bastard just had to go for the face. 

He shifted position. Iolaus had to know he was there, but he wasn't letting on if he did. 

By the time Autolycus had gotten back to his feet, Iolaus had disappeared from sight. The path wasn't too hard to follow, though, even for a habitual city dweller such as himself, and Autolycus had eventually found the thief here, by the Lake of Hephaestus. He wasn't sure what he intended to say, but he wasn't the type to run away from personal conflicts. Well, sometimes. On even-numbered days, anyway. 

Truth told, he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing there, but sometimes it was a good idea to follow your gut instinct. 

And sometimes that was the kind of thing that put your neck in a noose. 

Eventually he sighed, pushed away from the tree, ambled over to the edge of the water, and settled down next to Iolaus, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. 

"So," he said, "you wanna tell me why you just used my face for a punching bag?" 

Iolaus picked up a good-sized rock and tossed it as hard as he could; it cleared the far side of the pond and bounced off a tree. "You know, for a guy who says he's only looking after his own neck, you do seem to be trying awfully hard to get yourself killed." 

"I don't--" 

"First you're planning on going back to steal from the Conqueror again, just to prove you can. Then when you're ordered to do just that, you decide it'd be much more fun to forget the whole thing and incidentally defy a fairly major god in the process. Excuse me if I just don't see the logic." 

"I explained all that," Autolycus said, with some annoyance. "I have to defend my title from your evil identical twin from a parallel universe, and the Conqueror wouldn't be expecting me to try again. But if she has Tiro, you can bet he'll be under heavy guard, most likely--" 

"So you wanna tell me what you're still doing here?" 

Autolycus broke off in mid-rant, openmouthed. "That is actually a very good question," he admitted. "I considered just taking off, of course, but there is a pissed-off god to consider. If I'm gonna skip out on him, I'd rather wait a while so he can get distracted by something else." 

It sounded plausible enough, but Iolaus didn't seem to be buying it. Uncooperative ass. "I'm sure." 

"And then," Autolycus continued, narrowing his eyes, "I discovered I had this burning need to find out just what in Tartarus is your problem, anyway. And since I've got time to kill, I figured I may as well ask." 

"Yeah? Well, it's really fucking simple, Autolycus." Iolaus tossed a stone from one hand to the other as he stared over the water. His eyebrows were lowered in a glower. "I don't intend on letting one more innocent person die for me. Ever." 

"Well, now," Autolycus said, "I don't know that I'd call Tiro innocent--" 

"Oh, cut the crap. You know as well as I do that--" 

"Listen, pal, I'm fond of the old guy myself, but you can't save everyone. Tiro can just tell Xena where we are-- well, were-- and then live happily ever after. Trust me, he can look after himself just fine. I mean, maybe I'm missing a key element here, but I don't see what the problem is." 

Iolaus sighed, the harsh lines carved in his face making him look ten years older. "Do you really think he'd just tell her like that? I mean, I've only know him for a week now, but somehow he didn't strike me as the type. If he were, he wouldn't be helping people like us in the first place." Autolycus opened his mouth, but Iolaus didn't let him get a word in. "And besides, even if he did, do you really think the Conqueror would just let him go once she found us gone? I think you're just trying to rationalize your motives, and not doing a very good job of it." 

This time Autolycus spoke as quickly as he could. "I'm not--" 

"Third," Iolaus cut him off, "it's not about 'saving everyone', it's about being responsible for your own actions. I told you, I'm not letting anyone die because of me, ever again. Have you ever done that? Have you ever just stood there and watched someone die, someone who didn't deserve it, and known you were the cause of it?" 

Autolycus stared down at his boots, at the soft, dew-dampened dirt and the light covering of fallen leaves beneath his soles, and tried not to think of angry green eyes and long gold hair. "Yeah, well, you know what they say," he muttered, keeping his face impassive. "It gets easier after the first time." 

"No, I didn't think you had," Iolaus said bitterly. Autolycus didn't look up. "Well, you've led a pretty sheltered life, haven't you, Mr. King of Thieves? Because I've done it, and it sucks. And no, it never gets easier to let someone die when you can prevent it, it just gets easier to shut yourself off to it. And if you do that, then you're dead. You're not human. 'Cause there's a kind of power in it, and it hurts. And then there's people like you who've never taken a life, never had that kind of power, standing around saying someone else can die just so you can save your own skin, and let me tell you, your own life's not that important. Not if you have to live with that on your conscience, if you see that person's face every time you close your eyes--" He broke off, sounding frustrated; glancing out of the corner of his eye, Autolycus saw him dig his fingernails into his palms. 

"Fuck, I don't know how to make you understand, but-- that's how it is." Iolaus sounded defeated. "Take it or leave it. Just do whatever you want, I'm not bothering with it anymore. You know, I thought maybe you weren't such a bad guy after all, but obviously I was wrong, and you know what? I really don't care. I am going to rescue Tiro. If you don't want to, it's your ass getting fried, not mine." 

"Not if I run fast enough." 

"Sure," Iolaus said, turning to face him with a rustle of dead leaves. Autolycus kept his head down. "But could you live with yourself?" 

He didn't say anything. 

"I have heard about you, you know. They say the King of Thieves isn't a killer. If you run now, you might as well cut Tiro's throat yourself." 

Autolycus stared down at his hands. Long-fingered, flexible hands, well-suited to picking pockets and liberating valuable objects and wielding delicate instruments. But murder.... 

It was easier to think of it as a point of no return. Not quite so easy to look for a way out. 

"That whole big speech of yours," he began, trying for casual with some small success. "That something you picked up in the mystical east?" 

Iolaus exhaled shortly, his breath coming out in a tired huff. "No, I worked that one out all on my own. You don't know what you're talking about here, and I don't expect you to listen to me. I mean, you're the king, right? But I'm doing it, with or without you, and in fact at the moment I'd prefer without." 

Autolycus rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. I must be crazy, he thought. Or maybe just human. Yay me. 

"Well then," he said after a moment, "I hate to say it-- I really do-- but you're out of luck." 

Iolaus turned to stare at him again, and this time Autolycus met his gaze squarely, slipping on his usual confident mask as easily as pulling on an old, worn tunic. Iolaus's eyes narrowed. "Oh, what, now you decide to help? How very fucking generous of you." 

And oddly enough, these were Iolaus's words of peace. 

"How very fucking gracious of you," Autolycus retorted. "What can I say? Your impassioned heartfelt words have struck a chord, deep down inside me--" 

"Shut up." 

"Love you too." 

They turned together, once again staring across the pond. 

After a moment Autolycus said, "So did you have a plan, or did you just want us to smash our way in, in the best tradition of heroes everywhere, and have a bunch of archers use us for pincushions?" 

"Well, I hadn't got quite that far, but I think we can safely say that's not an option." 

"Oh, good. I kind of like my body parts the way they are." 

"We'd have to know a lot more about the castle, its defenses, this area in general, and a lot of other shit that's going to take a lot of time that we don't have. Any ideas yet?" 

"There is someone we can ask," Autolycus said slowly. "Someone who knows Corinth, someone who's an experienced thief, someone who'd be very dedicated to the cause. Who could maybe even help us out some." 

"Who can shield us from those archers, you mean." 

"Now would I suggest such a thing? That's what you're here for." 

Iolaus turned to look at him. "Dedicated to the cause? Why would he be...." He trailed off, his expression turning wary. 

"She." 

"Who?" 

"She's a she," Autolycus said. "Not a he." 

He stood abruptly and reached his hand down to Iolaus. "Come on. We'd better hurry if we want to beat the rush." 

* * *

Agamede was not having a good day. 

In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she'd had one. (This was not strictly true; the last good day had been about three days ago, before she and Sileia had parted company for their respective hometowns. But for Agamede, prone to the occasional melodramatic exaggeration, the depths of her current misery were such that she couldn't imagine ever being without it. It was, as such, a metaphorical sort of not remembering.) Her father had been taken prisoner the night before, by no less than the Conqueror's own army, for protecting a couple of stupid, rotten criminals (she thought, conveniently forgetting for the moment that her own extracurricular activities were somewhat less than lawful, as filial devotion knows no boundaries of logic). 

The Conqueror, repressive bitch that she was-- Agamede had seen no shortage of her handiwork during her travels with Sileia, the intricacies of travelling itself being a prime example; it was nearly impossible to get into one town from another without official papers, but that at least was easy enough to get around if you knew the right people. 

Then there were the Amazons, with whom Sileia was apparently well acquainted. According to Agamede's fiancee, the Amazon Nation hadn't always been the pathetic, scattered handfuls of women that it was now, but they had been nearly wiped out in a war with the Centaurs a few years ago. After the fighting ended, the Amazons had slowly but surely started to replenish their numbers under their new queen, Velasca, during which time the Conqueror was busy, well, conquering her way into power. Then Velasca had gotten the idea to take back their old lands-- lands that now belonged to the Empire. 

The Conqueror, getting wind of this, had destroyed them. Burned their lands, beseiged them with armies of thousands-- genocide was the only word for it. The devastation was even worse than that caused by the war; only a scattering of the once-extensive Amazon Nation now existed, in miniscule tribes of maybe ten or fifteen, the last holdouts unwilling to give up their way of life and be assimilated into the Conqueror's worldwide guard state. 

All the Amazons had wanted was the land that was rightfully theirs, and they'd been reduced to near-nonexistence for it. Sileia, ever the idealist, had hopes for the Nation's eventual restoration; privately, Agamede felt their days were already numbered. 

Agamede was not a fan of the Conqueror. 

And now she'd taken Tiro to do who knew what to him (Agamede's mind stubbornly refused to supply details; denial was much more pleasant at the moment), and he hadn't even let his own daughter try to help him. That still rankled. She wanted-- she _needed_ to come up with a plan of rescue, to try and save him. She needed to be doing something. 

The pouch of coins had been gone that morning, but as she'd announced more than once, you couldn't rely on Hermes for anything. She wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or just frustrated. 

So what was she doing at the moment? Not poring over blueprints of the Conqueror's castle and plotting a way in. No, of course not. Agamede was currently playing hostess at the Temple of Hermes in Corinth. 

Well, somebody had to do it. 

She settled back in the hard stone chair with a sigh, pursed her lips in irritation, and glowered at the trembling man crouched at her feet. "He's not here," she said wearily. "Come back tomorrow." 

The man stared pleadingly up at her, his wrinkled face wreathed in misery. "But I must speak to the high priest! It's a private matter of great importance--" 

"Look," Agamede said, "I'm not keeping him in my pocket." The Conqueror is, she thought, but she didn't say it. "He's just not here. Now what could you possibly need from the high priest that you can't do for yourself?" 

"My son-- he's travelling to Delphi, I wish to pray for his safe passage--" 

"Yeah, and what makes you think Hermes'll do you any favors?" 

He looked shocked. "Miss, you mustn't! Praise Hermes-- the greatest of all gods!" This last was offered up in hasty prayer, in case the god was even now hovering above them, about to blow the temple to bits for this particular impiety. 

Agamede sighed and surveyed the temple, busy with worshippers and gossipers, bright clothing in stark contrast to the darker outfits of habitual denizens of the night. All come to give offering to Hermes, who as far as she had learned in her seventeen years of life didn't give two fucks about them all. It was so pointless. Not to mention a waste of money and effort. For the thousandth time she made a mental note to never take up religion. 

She looked down at the shaking but determined worshipper and sighed again. "Okay, look. If you're really set on it, then leave an offering and he'll get back to you as soon as possible, okay?" 

The man babbled a thank you and scurried off to the altar, and Agamede rubbed her eyes. She could feel a headache forming. It was going to be a long day. 

The temple was busier than she remembered it being, but by keeping half an ear on the conversations she learned that something fairly major had happened in the world of thieves recently. Someone had stolen something from the Conqueror, or escaped from her, or something like that, and of course everyone had to gather and talk about who had pulled off the impossible feat. Attendance was sure to die down as time went on. 

Agamede's eyes drifted past the steps and up the path leading to town. Two cloaked figures were hobbling along the path, clutching at each other for support, and she watched them dispiritedly, imagining their particular life story. An old couple, she decided-- married forever and, like so many others, suffering financially under the Conqueror's reign-- come to give the last of their meager possessions to the capricious god Hermes in the hope that it would somehow make things better. Maybe asking him to protect them from thieves. She'd seen it often enough; these were the offerings that her father always had to clear away at the end of the day and store in the back room, because Hermes never accepted them. Nor would he, she thought. It was like asking Ares to protect a village from war. That just wasn't how it worked. Now, if there were a God of Law-Abiding Citizens, maybe.... 

The couple made it slowly to the top of the steps and stood before her. The hoods of their cloaks hid their faces from view, but one of them, Agamede saw, had long curls that in the sunlight could be blond, or could be white going yellow from age. 

"What do you want?" she demanded, a little more sharply than she'd intended. 

"Now now, young lady," the taller figure said in a creaky voice, "is that any way to speak to your betters?" 

Agamede frowned. She leaned forward, peering up at the "old man"'s face. Then she turned to see the grinning face of his curly-haired "wife". 

Speaking of headaches, she thought. 

Her mouth tightened, and she rose to stand on the chair, giving herself as much height as possible. "The temple is closed," she barked over their heads. 

Ignoring the loud complaints from the assembled worshippers, she jumped down from her perch, grabbed the two cloaked figures and dragged them towards the inner chamber. They came more or less willingly, with only a little good-natured grumbling-- a good thing, since the maneuver wouldn't have worked nearly as well if they'd resisted. 

Once inside, she shoved the two away and evicted three rather surprised thieves engaged in some doubtless illegal exchange behind the altar. "Out," she snapped, brushing away their protests. "We're closed. Out. Now." 

She slammed the door shut behind them and then rounded on the two cloaked men. 

Autolycus was brushing himself off. "Hey! No manhandling the merchandise, kid." 

His shorter companion pushed back the hood of his cloak and shook out his long hair. He looked around appraisingly. "Not bad, as temples go." 

Agamede stormed towards them and stuck her nose in Autolycus's face, or tried to anyway; unfortunately, she could only get up about as high as his collarbone. "What in Tartarus is going on?" she demanded, jabbing her finger into his chest for good measure. 

"Want me to kneel down, so you can yell at me properly?" he offered. The short one snickered. 

"Don't give me that. Don't try to make a joke and pretend this isn't serious! What. Is. Going. On. Here?" 

Autolycus pulled his own hood back. He looked more than a little uncomfortable; a recent good-sized bruise seemed to be developing under his left eye. "Oh, well. Um... where should I start?" 

"How about with why my father's in the Conqueror's dungeons!" 

"Oh, that." His hand drifted to his chin. Annoyingly handsome as ever, Agamede thought spitefully, and Dad's been locked up and had who knows what done to him, and what's wrong with this picture? "Well-- look, Ags, that's kind of--" 

"Excuse me," the other man interrupted, stepping forward with a smile. "Hi. I'm Iolaus." 

She turned and blinked at him, feeling herself start to smile back before she caught herself and frowned instead. He wasn't much taller than she was; his face was weathered but still handsome-- probably still in his thirties, if he spend a lot of time outside, which judging from his tan he probably did-- and he had pale blue eyes and the aforementioned smile. Then there was his hair, not precisely curly now that she looked, but more like wavy and wild, falling past his shoulders. Not bad, Agamede thought absently, in the same abstract way she usually reserved for statues and temples and really nice horses. He seemed surrounded by a perpetual air of affability. Still, there was something in his face, something shadowed... like he'd lost something important, a long time ago.... 

Her frown deepened. "Agamede." 

"Tiro's daughter, I presume," Iolaus said, taking her hand. "May I say, in an entirely complimentary way, that you look nothing like him whatsoever?" 

Agamede stared at him blankly. Beside her, Autolycus snorted. 

"Not going to work, pal," he said. "You might as well know--" 

"May I have my hand back, please?" Agamede said. 

Iolaus released her hand with another grin. It was, she decided, studying him, going to be very hard to dislike this man. She'd just have to do her best. 

Then he said, "Here's the short version. The Conqueror is looking for the both of us, and your father was hiding us from her. Then Hermes came and said we had to rescue him. Something about a prayer?" 

Agamede grimaced. "Right. Well." She turned back to Autolycus, furious again. "I knew this was your fault somehow! I mean, I thought I heard that solider say your name, but it didn't really register, but now-- I knew it!" 

Iolaus leaned in close to the King of Thieves. "She doesn't seem to like you much," he said in a stage whisper. 

"Aw, this is just her way of saying hello." Autolycus smiled, somewhat nervously. "I hope." 

She scowled and started to say something cutting, but Autolycus didn't give her the chance. "Listen, Ags, we're going after him, but we could use your help." 

Agamede blinked again. "You're going to rescue my dad from the Conqueror?" 

She didn't miss the dark look he shot Iolaus. Iolaus just smiled. "Believe me," Autolycus said with a sigh, "it doesn't sound any better from here." 

"Yeah, well, you'd better be doing something about it, since it's your fault she took him in the first place." Agamede's scowl deepened as she started to pace. "You need all the help you can get, is what you could use. I'd have to-- gods, I don't even know-- lock this place up, get a message to Sileia--" 

"And how is the lovely lady?" Autolycus interrupted in a low voice. 

Iolaus stepped away then, out of earshot, with surprising tact for someone the so-called King of Thieves kept company with. Unnecessary tact, but tact nonetheless. Agamede made a mental note to ask Autolycus where he'd come across him. 

"We're getting married," she mumbled, still pacing. 

Autolycus blinked at the news. "Oh. Well-- well, frankly, that sounds like Tartarus on a stick to me, but I'm assuming that's a good thing for you, so... congratulations. At least I didn't get my nose broken for nothing." 

"I'm sure," Agamede muttered, distracted, remembering that Autolycus wasn't all bad after all. She made another mental note-- after her father was safe, she'd apologize. Maybe. 

An odd expression crossed his face, and then he frowned. "You know, you could try to sound a little less excited," he chided. 

Agamede sighed. "Oh, you don't get it. I'm simply ecstatic. And d'you know, Dad even gave his blessing?" 

"But that's--" 

"Great, yeah, except it's mainly because he things he's going to die! My point is that I have other things on my mind right now." 

Autolycus hesitated. He seemed, against all odds, to be struggling with a moral issue. Agamede said, "So just let me close up here, and we'll go find a tavern and talk--" 

"Look, Ags," he interrupted, apparently coming to a decision, "I'm sorry, I can't ask you to help--" 

Her jaw dropped. "Excuse me?" 

"Nothing against you or your abilities, you understand, it just wouldn't be fair to you or Sileia--" 

"It's not fair to leave me out of it!" Agamede hissed, making an abortive gesture for his face, her fingernails hooked like claws. Autolycus retreated, and she followed, fuming. "For Hermes's sake! What is it about guys and marriage, anyway? Like it'd be just dandy to risk my life as long as she was just my girlfriend, but now we're engaged, all of a sudden everyone has to keep me safe and protected?" 

"Yes," Autolycus said candidly. "Well, there's a bit more to it, actually, like the fact that marriage is a bit more serious than just girlfriends, and it sort of implies responsibility-- one reason why I tend to avoid the institution entirely-- such as the responsibility for you to not get killed before the blessed event can take place, but when you get right down to it-- yes, it's a guy thing." 

Agamede stamped her foot again. Inwardly she cringed. This is getting to be quite an annoying habit, she thought, I hope I don't keep it up. "I don't believe you! You got my father captured and nearly killed and now I'm supposed to rely on you to get him out safely and you won't even let me _help_?" 

"Now wait just a minute. If you don't think I can do it--" 

"I don't think you'll be more concerned about his welfare than your own! I know you! You don't risk your own neck for anything! Gods, I can't wait to see how long this one lasts before you turn tail and run--" 

"Well, I can't very well do that, can I, if Hermes is gonna turn my ass over to the Conqueror the minute I do!" Autolycus retorted. "Thanks to your prayer, I might add, and when did you turn religious anyway? Because if it was your idea of some amusing irony, to get us to go after him--" 

He broke off, looking angry and frustrated and a little surprised, and Agamede's hand went automatically to her mouth. "I just asked him to look after him," she whispered. "I mean, I thought he'd go rescue him. He's a god, right? Gods can do that. But-- oh, I should've known better than to trust him!" 

"Yeah," Autolycus said. "Those gods are a pain, all right. I can't go anywhere till Tiro is safe. So are you satisfied now that I won't do the sensible thing and just leave?" 

Agamede sighed. "Okay. Look, I'm sorry about that, but you did get him into this, you know. It's only fair, when you think about it." 

He rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything, she added quickly, "But if you think I'm just gonna stay at home and wait like a good little girl--" 

"You know, I hate to say it," Autolycus said, his voice suddenly bright, "but you really haven't got a choice. Because if you go after him on your own, you'll just fuck it up." 

Agamede gaped at him, outraged. She felt her hands clench into fists. "That is just so-- so--" 

"It is, isn't it," he agreed, stepping back. Agamede was somewhat mollified to see that she frightened him, at least a little. Of course-- he'd seen her fight, and he wouldn't fight back. Whether from some outdated notion of chivalry or because her father would rip him into little pieces if he did, it was still some sort of chauvinism, and the thought made her feel distinctly less mollified. Her darkening mood didn't escape Autolycus's notice; his voice was slightly tinged with desperation when he called, "Hey, Blondie! Over here!" 

Iolaus wandered in then from wherever it was he'd been. Wherever it was had obviously included food; he was munching on a piece of baklava as he spoke. "We ready to go?" 

"Ags here won't be joining us," Autolycus said with what was obviously meant to be a charming smile. 

"Don't call me that," Agamede growled. 

Iolaus looked back and forth between the two. "Did I miss something?" 

She started to advance again. "Only that 'Tols' here was apparently struck by a sudden _fatal_ case of 'protect the little woman' syndrome--" 

"You wound me, woman. It's not safe--" 

"So fucking what?" she yelled. "When's that ever stopped me? When's it ever stopped _you_?" 

"Oookay." Iolaus popped the last of the pastry in his mouth and backed away, licking his fingers. "You guys are obviously still busy--" 

"Now don't be silly," Autolycus said with an unbearably smug smile, throwing a restraining arm across his shoulders. "We're completely finished here." 

"Dad'll kill you." Agamede was nearly beside herself with anger. 

"He'll thank me." 

"I'll kill you!" 

"That, I'll risk." 

Iolaus waved his fingers back and forth between them. "So she's not--" 

"Change of plans." 

Autolycus broke into a run, dragging a bewildered Iolaus behind him. Agamede's enraged cry of "Gorgon-fucking shit-eating satyr-sucking sons of bacchaes!" followed them out of the temple, floating out into the warm midday air. 

* * *

"I don't think... she likes you very much," Iolaus panted as he ran, pushing the other man's arm away. Agamede's blistering invective still rang in his ears. 

"Are you kidding? She loves me." Autolycus slowed to a stop and pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head again. "The kid always did have an inventive turn of phrase, I'll give her that." 

With one last glance at his new reluctant partner, Iolaus followed suit. "If she loves you, I'd hate to see the women you really manage to piss off," he muttered as they made their way unnoticed back to town. "So, plan beta?" 

"Yeah," Autolycus said. "Time to think one up." 

* * *

Agamede walked out onto the steps and watched them go. 

"Damn it," she whispered. Galling as it was to admit, Autolycus might have a point with that responsibility thing, although it was certainly the last thing she'd ever expected to hear from him. Sileia would certainly be unbearable if she went and got herself killed. And of course, as good as she thought she was, the King of Thieves was better-- if she tried to follow, he'd know in a second. 

The alternative, of course, was to just sit by and do nothing while her father was being (and here she finally admitted it to herself) tortured. 

"_Damn_ it," she repeated more forcefully. A thought popped, unbidden, into her head. She could always make a deal with the Conqueror, offer up the two thieves in exchange for her father's life and safety.... 

No. Of course she couldn't. There was a code, after all, and that was way beyond it. Besides, Tiro would never forgive her. 

But the idea wouldn't go away. 

Her pale blue eyes sought out the horizon line. 

"Sileia," Agamede said softly. "I need you here. If only you knew." 

* * *

On a heavily wooded path, some distance away, a slender, dark-haired woman with solemn gray eyes drew her horse to a stop and looked around, seeing nothing but thick green vegetation, hearing only the buzzing of insects and the chirping of birds. 

After a moment she nudged her horse again and started trotting faster down the path. 

End Part 3 

_C'mon, kids, you know the drill._


	5. Chapter 4

"Half A Life" (4/11)  
by Maya Tawi 

_"I looked into your eyes and saw  
A world that does not exist"  
-VAST_

"Gods," Iolaus sighed blissfully. "Real ale. In a real tavern, with real dirty floors and a real cranky bartender and real huge bastards in the corner looking for somebody to beat up. I've missed this." 

Autolycus rested his elbows on the polished wooden bar of the tavern and gazed into his mug. "All right, let's think about this. What's your idea?" 

"Distraction," Iolaus said. He gulped down a mouthful of the aforementioned ale. "The Conqueror'll be expecting someone to come after Tiro, we both know that. What she can't know is that we're working together. So one of us goes in and gets the attention of the guards, in a very unobtrusive way of course, and while they're occupied, thinking they've got the only intruder, the other gets Tiro out before anyone notices." 

"Yeah," Autolycus agreed, "I was thinking along the same lines." Ignoring Iolaus's dubious look, he continued, "The only problem there is, whoever 'distracts' the Conqueror's guards had better be one Hades of a runner." 

"That's a point." Iolaus gave him a hard look; he had an uncharacteristically dark expression on his face. Then again, that could have just been the bruise. "So who gets to distract the guards and run like fuck?" 

Autolycus was scowling now. "Should be me," he muttered into his drink. "Now that'd be appropriate." 

He certainly didn't seem to like the idea. "Appropriate how?" Iolaus asked warily, not sure he wanted to know. 

"What?" Autolycus looked startled. "Nothing. Never mind." 

Iolaus sighed. "I'll do it." 

As soon as he said it, he wondered why. The voice of the young, pragmatic, stone cold killer he'd been was calling him fifty kinds of fool. Common sense dictated that you didn't blow off decrees from gods, but then, it also dictated that you didn't stick your neck out any further than was necessary. Certainly not far enough for someone to whack it off with one easy blow. 

But then the grim, determined thirty-eight-year-old he'd become said, This is as far as you've got to go. So go there. 

He looked up. His partner in crime still looked wary, like he thought he should argue but wasn't very keen on the idea. 

"Okay, here," Iolaus said with another sigh. "We can talk about that later. Right now let's concentrate on how to get in." 

Autolycus just shrugged, but he did seem to perk up. "Okay, listen. I have maps of the castle from when Sisyphus was king, and I don't think too much would've changed. There's a secret passage, but that's how I got in last time-- they'll have it guarded now." 

Iolaus drained the last of his drink and set it down on the bar. Sisyphus? Something else he'd missed. He didn't look at Autolycus as he asked in a low, neutral voice, "Was Jason ever king?" 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other man frown. "Gods on Olympus, where've you been for the past few decades?" 

He ran his finger around the rim of his mug. "East, remember? Not for decades, of course, for about ten years, give or take. I, uh... I left when too many people started chasing me and decided it might be a good time to see other parts of the known world." 

"So you went east, learned secrets of inner peace and harmony, then came back here and started stealing again?" Autolycus rubbed his hands together. "I knew I was doing something right." 

Iolaus stared at him, surprised, and Autolycus smiled wryly. "Hey, being the King of Thieves takes a mind of great knowledge and cunning. I'm not completely ignorant of other cultures." 

"Yeah. Well." Iolaus sighed. "It didn't work out quite so well as all that. I went the inner peace route for a while, but the more I did, the more I felt like... like there was some part of me that was missing. So I came back here and started up with my old life again. You know, to get things back the way they were _before_ my whole identity crisis, or whatever that was." 

"So did it work?" 

"Kind of. For a while. I kept myself distracted, anyway." He grinned. "You know, that part wasn't bad at all." 

Autolycus looked vaguely annoyed, but then he smiled back and Iolaus decided he must have been imagining it. "I'm sure it wasn't, you little scamp, you. And then you figured out our much-beloved ruler had it in for you, and Tiro showed you his little piece of backyard real estate?" 

"You know the rest," Iolaus agreed, deciding to let the "scamp" comment slide. Once. He paused. "You didn't answer my question." 

"What question?" 

"If Jason was ever King of Corinth." 

"Right." Autolycus swallowed a mouthful of ale. "Um... highly unlikely, really. The name isn't ringing any bells." 

"Jason, son of Aeson?" Iolaus pressed. "When Aeson died, I heard his brother Pelias took over the throne." 

"Oh, that Jason." Iolaus rolled his eyes, mockingly mouthing the words, and Autolycus continued, "No, he died around the same time his father did. Pelias reigned for a while, and conquered most of the land around Corinth, and then one day apparently the old guy got bored and just up and left. The throne bounced around until Sisyphus took over like a kid with a brand new toy... what? What is it?" 

Iolaus felt faint, like he'd just been socked in the stomach. He took a deep breath and let his hands drop beneath the bar, lacing his fingers together; when he spoke, his voice was calm. "Nothing. I just... used to know him, once. Jason. For a couple weeks or so. Nice guy." 

"Rough," Autolycus said without much sympathy. He didn't seem impressed. 

It was just as well, because Iolaus wasn't listening. Jason... gods, he hadn't thought about the young prince in years. They'd met at Cheiron's Academy, where Iolaus had been sent after one of his many brushes with the law; he lasted less than a moon before he decided to leave and try his luck staying one step ahead of the law. He pictured Jason's face now, the close-cropped dark hair and dark eyes, so serious and intense about everything but with a smile that promised an easygoing, even gleeful sense of humor lurking just below the surface... one of the few guys Iolaus had known in his brief tenure who hadn't made fun of him for not being the son of anyone, well, important. Solid and muscled, Jason had looked more like a warrior than a future king. Figures, Iolaus thought with an inward sigh; apparently he didn't end up being either. 

He'd heard of Aeson's death, of course, but not of that of Jason. It was something of a jolt, learning that his former classmate had died so soon after he'd left. He wondered what had happened. 

"Iolaus?" Autolycus' voice cut into his thoughts. "Hellooo, Greece to Iolaus... are you playing with yourself under there? There've been better times for it than this." 

"Sorry," he said absently, resting his hands once more on the bar. 

Autolycus frowned. "What's with you? You're not supposed to just apologize. That's no fun." 

Iolaus sighed. "Look, can we get on with this? The sooner we get Tiro to safety, the sooner I can get on with my life." 

"_Okay_," Autolycus said. Iolaus ignored his curious gaze. 

Autolycus exhaled loudly. "As I was _saying_ Zeus knows how long ago, I have maps. From what I can tell, there are three good ways in." He cast a suspicious glance over his shoulder, making sure they were alone at the bar and that no one was paying them any attention, before pulling a folded piece of parchment from under his cloak and spreading it out in front of him. "Underground-- that's the secret passage. It starts next to the kitchens in the back and comes out at the dungeons, which would be ideal if that's where they're keeping Tiro, but like I said, it's likely to be heavily guarded." 

"So, next option," Iolaus surmised, studying the blueprints over his shoulder. 

"Definitely the next option. Now, the main thing to remember-- never overlook the obvious." Autolycus stabbed a finger at the map for emphasis. "Windows. If we know which windows are generally open at night, we can get in through there and plot a route." His hand went to his cloak again, pulling out a list scrawled in messy but legible handwriting, presumably his own. "These are the windows that were open more than three nights in a row." 

Iolaus shook his head. "You know, you're really--" 

"Thorough?" Autolycus suggested brightly. 

"Well, I was gonna say anal, but... you know, your version does sound better." 

"Hey, don't knock it, Blondie," Autolycus chastised, tapping him on the side of the head. "I'm not the best for nothing, you know. My thoroughness could end up saving your life." 

"Not likely." 

"So," Autolycus said, ignoring him. "A viable option, but dicey. After ou-- my little escapade, they'll be locking up the barn after the horse, so we can probably count the windows out." 

Iolaus raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, you know, you never did say. If you're so good, how come you got caught?" 

Autolycus frowned at the map. "Long story. So, third choice-- the roof. There's a bell tower in the east wing that's been blocked off from the rest of the castle, and it's open from the top and never guarded. The only tricky part would be getting from the tower into the castle itself, and here's where we're lucky-- the barricades went up in Aeson's day, when the old boy wasn't quite so sharp anymore. The guy who put them up happened to have a cousin who was a thief, and he left a secret entrance in special consideration for the rest of us. Nice guy," he added. "Anyway, only certain thieves know about it, so I'm thinking that's our best choice." 

He paused, clearly waiting for congratulations and admiration. Iolaus said, "Can't we just bluff our way in? Get a couple guards' uniforms and walk in like we belong there." 

"Hey," Autolycus said, "you're talking to the master of bluffing. It just so happens that the Conqueror makes a point of looking at all the guards' faces when she passes them, and if she happened to choose that night for a surprise inspection, well, I'm sure you can imagine what happens then. No, way too risky." 

"I can't believe you know all this." 

"Like I said," Autolycus said, "that's why I'm the best." 

He paused again. Iolaus didn't say anything for a moment; when Autolycus started to look seriously peeved, he said, "There's another way." 

Autolycus blinked. "Excuse me?" 

"Option four. You missed one." He indicated the map as a whole with a vague wave of his hand. "A castle this big needs ventilation, if they have the choice of closing the windows at night. Right? There's your other way in." 

The King of Thieves stared at him for a moment, then said, "I was just about to say that." 

"Sure you were." 

"No, really." Autolycus reached into his cloak for a third time, extracting another map. "Castle ventilation system," he announced, spreading out his prize. 

Iolaus just shook his head. 

After a moment Autolycus said, "This could work. So we have two good entrances into the castle-- we each take one, and that way, the distraction doesn't end up giving the other guy away...." 

A sudden movement by the door caught Iolaus's eye, and he reached out, his warning hand landing on Autolycus's thigh. When Autolycus jumped, Iolaus said quietly, "Castle guard. Don't turn around." 

Autolycus swore softly and bowed his head, letting his hood fall down further to hide his face. At the same time he swept the maps off the bar and tucked them back into his cloak. 

"Barkeep," the guard was growling. From the brief glance Iolaus had caught, the guy was like a small Mount Atlas. "Do you know this man?" There was the accompanying rustle of parchment. 

"Haven't seen 'im," the bartender said. 

"Tiro must not be talking," Autolycus murmured. Iolaus bit his lip. 

"Look again," came the guard's voice. He didn't sound any happier. 

"I did look," the bartender snapped. 

"So think harder." 

"Listen, pal, I remember every face I see, all right? I got a portraitive memory. Every face I see. And that face, I did not see." 

Another rustle. "Well, how about this guy?" 

The bartender hesitated almost imperceptibly. "Never in my life." 

"You're lying," the guard accused. 

"Well, of course I know who he is," the bartender amended. "Everyone does." 

Autolycus started to grin. 

"He's that fellow stole the rock from the Conqueror's stick and then disappeared. Suicidal, I thought. You say you haven't caught him yet?" 

The grin faded. Iolaus just smirked. 

"I'll just take a look around," the guard said. "If you don't mind." 

Iolaus gripped Autolycus's leg tighter. "Got any bright ideas?" he hissed. 

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking," Autolycus muttered back. "You know, I could think a lot better if you weren't groping me like that." 

"Right." Iolaus removed his hand. "How about now?" 

"As a matter of fact...." Autolycus fumbled around in his cloak, then pulled out a small container of gray powder. "Rub that in your hair." 

Iolaus did so, a bit warily. 

"Good. Limp a little. Help me down." Iolaus slid off the stool and grabbed his hand. "Pull your hood back, let your hair fall in front of your face." 

Suddenly Iolaus got it. He wrapped an arm around Autolycus' shoulders, ignoring the fact that Autolycus had to hunch down for him to get a good grip, and started lurching towards the entrance. 

* * *

Myndon didn't particularly like his job. 

It wasn't that it was a bad job, or that the Conqueror was a cruel employer; it wasn't, and she wasn't. The Conqueror, in fact, was just cruel enough, being ruthlessly practical and understanding well what so many of his former employers had failed to realize-- that excessive force bred discontent, while a firm, unflinching, but ultimately fair hand would practically guarantee loyalty. The Conqueror knew exactly where the line was. And she was a fair ruler, with appropriately gruesome punishments for failure and a reasonable definition of just what failure consisted of. And it didn't hurt that every man-- and some of the women-- in her employ wanted to get her into bed but were too afraid to try. 

No, the Conqueror's character wasn't the problem. More likely-- well, a more troubling issue was the fact that she was a she. Myndon had very traditional views of the world, wherein the men fought and ruled and the women cooked and cleaned and produced heirs. Nowhere in this vision was there room for a woman who could single-handedly conquer the entirety of Greece, not to mention Gaul, Rome, Egypt, and Chin. Working for her went against his deepest ingrained beliefs. Not that he'd ever say so where anyone could hear. 

Another thing that bothered him was the sudden responsibility she had pressed upon him. In his other job, he'd just been a security guard, which meant that his duties consisted of standing outside a room and beating up anyone who tried to get in or out. That, he could do. The Conqueror, on the other hand, expected him to do things like find out who'd seen these two guys and then figure out from that where they might be. He wasn't sure he could, and he was terrified of what she might do to him if he couldn't. 

So when the old man in the dirty cloak hobbled past him, his arms wrapped around his companion's neck, Myndon didn't think twice before grabbing his shoulder. "Hey, grandpa! Look at these pictures." 

The old guy peered up at him through straggled gray hair. "Wha'? Whassat?" he shouted. "You'll have to speak up, I can't hear a word!" 

Myndon gritted his teeth. "I said--" 

"Whoops!" The old man slipped and staggered, clutching his friend's shoulder for balance. "See!" he said indignantly. "The bashtard's completely trashed! At the indeshent hour of-- of-- hey, sonny, what's the hour?" 

The guard glared at him. "Hey, pops, you wanna sleep it off in the dungeons?" he demanded. He could see the other people in the tavern starting to turn and stare. This was not good. This was definitely not professional. 

This was a matter of pride now. 

"Abshamently not!" the old man snapped with as much dignity as he could muster. "Sleep it off! Why, it's only an indeshent hour in the morning!" He dropped his companion, who sprawled bonelessly on the floor with a loud thump, and lurched forward. The old man clutched at Myndon's shirt collar with a grip like Damascus steel, too quickly for the guard to react. "Can you believe this guy? Always drinkin' like this! He's gotta stop it, I always tell 'im, but does the thick-headed bashtard listen, oh noooo," he wailed into the folds of a bemused Myndon's tunic. "'Snot got-- 'snot healthy, it makes 'im-- makes 'im forget stuff, you know, dumb bashtard, mind like a shieve--" He paused, squinting up at the guard through his hair. "Who're you?" 

Face twisted in disgust, Myndon tried to pry him away, but the old man clung like a barnacle. Disgusting, the way these people were just allowed to wander around like this. The Conqueror really ought to do something about it. 

He didn't make a habit of beating up old people, but he felt the situation warranted it. And it'd been a long time since he'd gotten to beat up anybody, young or old. He drove one hammer-like fist into the old man's ribs. 

The old man crumpled to the floor like a house of cards. Myndon kicked him once for good measure, then turned to where the other man had fallen, intending to pull back the hood and examine his face. Myndon was nothing if not thorough. 

The body wasn't there. 

Warning bells started to go off in the back of his mind, but before he could turn around something hard smashed into the back of his head. Myndon sank to his knees, bewildered, and tried to look over his shoulder. Another blow struck his skull; he swayed for a moment, then toppled over backwards, blinking. He stared muzzily up at a confused, blurry, yet somehow familiar face, thinking that the Conqueror was not going to be happy at all. 

Then a third blow sent him soaring into oblivion. 

* * *

Autolycus dropped the bar stool that had temporarily doubled as a club and scowled down at the guard's prone body. "Head like a rock," he muttered. 

Iolaus rose slowly to his knees, coughing. "Damn it," he complained, clutching his sore ribs. "Next time you get beat up, and I'll knock out the bad guy. Or good guy, depending on whether or not you're us." 

Autolycus ignored him, looking around the silent tavern. Countless pairs of interested eyes watched them. He met their gazes steadily. 

After a few moments the first watcher deliberately turned away. Others followed suit, and before long, the tavern was abuzz with people talking among themselves about their own business and pointedly ignoring the two thieves standing over the body of the unconscious castle guard. 

Iolaus stood and staggered over to Autolycus, leaning against his side. 

The bartender gave them a disinterested glance. "You boys might want to move it along. We'll take care of this." He nodded at the guard. 

Autolycus hesitated. "Well... thank you very much." 

The bartender snorted. "You just get out of here. Glad to be of service, Iolaus... Autolycus." 

The King of Thieves bowed, inadvertently dislodging his partner in crime. "Good to be known." 

Then, in unison, almost as though they'd choreographed it, the two pulled their hoods over their faces and hobbled out of the tavern. 

* * *

Xena climbed the steps up from the dungeon, occasionally pausing to listen for screams that never came. She smiled to herself. The old man was tougher than he looked. 

The slim, muscled blond woman walking beside her was obviously thinking along similar lines. "If you can't break him, there is a girl. His daughter, I believe. If she were threatened, I'm sure the old man would talk." 

"A daughter," the Conqueror mused. "And why wasn't I told of this?" 

The warrior strove to look unconcerned, but something about her manner suggested that she was bracing herself before replying. "I didn't think such measures would be necessary... your highness." 

A faint smile graced the Conqueror's painted lips. "Didn't you? You have such a low opinion of men, Glaphyra. That's your weakness-- you underestimate them. And I can't afford for my soldiers to have weaknesses." 

Glaphyra was silent for a moment. Carefully she said, "I have never been proven wrong before." 

"Yet just once could prove deadly." Then Xena's smile faded and she said in a low voice, "I must know everything, Glaphyra. I didn't come this far by only being told what my soldiers thought I should know." 

The blond woman bowed her head stiffly. "I... apologize, your highness." 

The Conqueror neither acknowledged the apology nor harped on the transgression. Instead she said, "The priest's daughter is safe for now. I am not in the habit of punishing innocent girls for the sins of their fathers." 

"Yes, your highness." 

"Have some men watch her. The instant she commits a crime of any sort, bring her to me." 

"Yes, your highness." 

"Dismissed." 

Glaphyra retreated back to the dungeon. Xena continued up the stairs. 

Almost immediately the hair on the back of her neck started to crawl; she was prepared a few moments later when Ares, God of War, flashed into existence, accompanied by the faint smell of burning ozone. 

"The old man isn't talking," the god observed, gliding backwards up the stairs. 

Xena didn't spare him a glance. "I noticed." 

"Those two could be miles away by now--" 

"Ares, does being the God of War simply not take up enough of your time? Because I can't imagine why else you keep hanging around. I don't need your advice on how to run my empire." 

"Dear, sweet Xena," Ares retorted, "in case it's slipped your mind, you rule the known world with an iron fist. _You_ wage wars. I _am_ doing my job. And you might want to keep in mind that you are everything you are because of me." 

The Conqueror's upper lip curled. "I don't need you." 

"Oh, I think you do." He took her arm, forcing her to stop. "If I wanted, I could cause an uprising so large, even your... legendary... army wouldn't be able to put it down. I am, after all, the God of War. Never forget that." 

She shook him off. "You wouldn't do that. You're far too obsessed with me. Now leave me be." 

Ares folded his arms across his chest and watched darkly as she swept the rest of the way up the steps. "Awfully sure of yourself there, aren't you?" he said quietly, once she was too far away to hear. "Get over yourself, Xena. I have." 

Then, with a blinding flash of light, he disappeared. 

* * *

Outside the square, the landscape was strewn with bodies, the dead and dying who had committed crimes against the state, strapped to the wooden crosses that dotted the rolling hills. In some places the very dirt was red with blood. The moans of those still conscious mixed with the sounds of livestock at nearby farms, with the chirping of insects and that of the birds, until it was just one more aspect of nature's cacophony. 

Inside, within the stone walls, the main square bustled with activity. Citizens went about their business, gaily ignoring the most piteous of the beggars who crawled on the ground through the sea of legs, begging for money and food. Occasionally they were thrown a few coins, but mostly they were paid no mind. For those who didn't share their straits, it was better to pretend that the beggars didn't exist, that the same thing could never happen to them. 

This was life in the Conqueror's Corinth. 

Iolaus took it all in, the province that had once been his home, feeling nauseated. How did this happen? he wondered. How did one woman cause all this? Was everyone just not paying attention the day she woke up and decided to take over the world? 

Or was Xena really so good that all the armies of the world were powerless to stand against her? 

"Pastries! Hot fresh pastries! Get 'em before they're gotten!" 

Iolaus glanced at the vendor bellowing in his ear, then down at his pastries. They were certainly hot, and possibly fresh, and as far as he could tell, they were just mounds of shredded dough. He nodded politely and started to move away. 

The vendor grabbed his arm, sensing a target. "Try it, mister. Just a taste, you'll like it, guaranteed." 

Iolaus shook him off and scanned the crowd, looking for a telltale flash of green before he remembered that his partner would still be in disguise. Where was Autolycus? How long did it take to find a room at an inn, anyway? He was getting nervous standing out in public like this, with everyone still talking about "his" escapade the day before. 

"Guaranteed," the vendor was insisting. "Here, you'll be my Thracian pig. You don't like it, you don't have to pay." 

He sighed. "If I try one, you'll leave me alone, right?" They were starting to attract attention, the one thing Iolaus didn't need. 

"Sure thing, mister." The vendor rubbed his hands together, eyes gleaming. He was a tall, greasy-looking rodent of a man, with a face like a weasel and a body like a ferret. His smile revealed teeth that were crooked and rotting. "Recipe's direct from the Land of the Nile," he announced, picking up one mound and pressing it into the thief's hands. "'Scalled _konafa_." 

Iolaus eyed the pastry dubiously. It was stuffed with nuts and covered in some kind of sticky syrup. He shrugged and took a bite, then brightened. "Oh, that's good!" 

"It is, isn't it?" The vendor beamed. "Five dinars." 

He nearly choked. "Excuse me?" 

"For that piece. Five dinars. It's a delicacy, you can't get it anywhere else--" 

"It's robbery, is what it is!" 

The vendor grinned like a shark. "No, mister. Robbery would be if you walk away without paying me." 

He opened his mouth indignantly and felt his fists start to clench, but before he could say or do anything, an arm suddenly draped over his shoulders. He jumped, and Autolycus's voice cut in, "Here you go. Five dinars, obviously more than fair for such fine quality goods as these, don't you agree? Ignore my friend, he really shouldn't be out on his own." 

Iolaus glared over his shoulder at the still-grinning vendor as Autolycus herded him away. "That guy was trying to rip me off!" 

"Yeah, and he succeeded. Good for him. Don't look so shocked, Priscilla, you're a thief too, remember?" Autolycus's arm tightened around him. "What happened to not drawing attention to yourself?" 

He scowled. "He wouldn't leave me alone, okay? People were starting to stare. Besides, I was hungry." 

"Obviously." 

Iolaus sighed. "So who paid for my dessert?" 

"He did," Autolycus said with a grin. "Don't worry, he'll never notice." 

"Very slick. Never?" 

"Well, not till we're far enough away." 

"I hope you pocketed some extra." 

"What do you take me for?" 

"I thought so." 

"Well, I'm keeping it," Autolycus said. "I think I deserve it, for saving your diminuitive ass." He flipped a large key into the air and caught it with his free hand. "The room's on the first floor. Bad for unexpected visitors, good for quick getaways, so we'll just see how that goes." 

Iolaus sighed again, leaning into Autolycus. He tried, for the time being, to put the legions of crucified men and women out of his mind, to just enjoy the sunlight, the crowd, the weight of the arm around him and the warmth of the body next to his.... "Wait a minute. Did you say the room?" 

Autolycus raised his eyebrows. "Yes, well, the funny thing about it is, if one man asks for two rooms at an inn, people sort of naturally assume that he's got a friend, and not the interesting kind that'll share a bed with him. Now you're the one whose face everyone recognizes-- Zeus knows why," he added under his breath, "it's not like what you did was so great or anything... so officially, you're not even supposed to exist. At least not anywhere near me." 

"I didn't even steal the damned thing," Iolaus muttered. One room... now that had possibilities. 

"How I wish that ever counted for anything. Come on, here we go. Keep your face hidden." 

"Yes, mother." Iolaus offered him the rest of the konafa. "Here, try it. Don't look at me like that, it's good. Just eat, okay?" 

* * *

Once inside the room, Iolaus ripped the heavy cloak off and flung it to the floor. "How do you stand that thing?" he groused. "I feel like a boiled lamb!" 

"Well, yes, if you're used to walking around half-naked I suppose it would be a change. You get used to it." Autolycus ignored the face he made and quickly inspected the room, then turned back to find Iolaus sprawled across the bed. His eyes widened. "Oh no you don't. I get that." 

Without moving a muscle Iolaus said, "I was here first." 

"So? I paid for the room!" 

"Like you were even using your money." 

"Well, okay, but--" Autolycus growled, agitated. "I did all the work. Getting the money and all." 

"I could've done that." 

"But you didn't." 

"So?" 

Autolycus hesitated. 

"Rock, parchment, dagger?" he said hopefully. 

Iolaus sighed and opened one eye. "We'll both get the bed," he said. "We both need to be rested, right? So we'll share." 

Autolycus scowled. "Fine. Whatever. Let's just get busy, shall we?" 

Iolaus sat up and grinned. If he didn't know better, he'd say that the King of Thieves was sulking. Actually, he didn't know better, and Autolycus _was_ sulking. 

It was really cute on him. 

The maps were spread out again, and Iolaus lay with his feet up near the pillows and his chin propped up on the end of the bed. Autolycus stretched out on the floor. 

"Okay," Iolaus said, "so here's what I was thinking...." 

* * *

Autolycus yawned. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse from overuse. "We'll have to make sure there's another way out before we go in, just in case. Maybe an open window--" 

"You know, this room service thing is a great idea," Iolaus said, his voice muffled. He swallowed the food in his mouth and picked up another stuffed grape leaf. "I think it'll really catch on." 

Autolycus glanced up at him and rolled his eyes. It wasn't that Iolaus was a pig or anything when it came to food-- well, not in so many words. It was more like a hobby with him. One he spent a great deal of time on and got really good at. 

"You're not listening," he complained. 

"Sure I am." Iolaus scooped up the last of the yogurt sauce and popped the vine leaf into his mouth. "And you sound like Tartarus. Let's give it up for the night, all right?" 

Autolycus frowned. "You're not tired." 

"Well, I wasn't nearly crucified yesterday, either." Iolaus grinned. "In fact, I've spent the past week doing nothing but resting up. You've spent it-- what? Being caught and thrown into a dungeon. See my point?" 

Autolycus sighed and gathered up the maps, sliding them under the bed. He stood reluctantly, then paused. "Um... look. You're shorter than I am--" 

"So?" Iolaus glared at him, wiping off his hands and very pointedly leaning back against the pillows. He leaned over and snuffed out the candle beside the bed, plunging the room into patches of darkness and moonlight. "We settled this. I'm not moving." 

"But--" 

"If you can't handle it, you're free to use the floor." 

Autolycus crossed his arms and glared. He scratched his head and frowned. He sighed again. 

Then, with dizzying abruptness, a light dawned. He blinked, shrugged, and smiled. 

"Okay," he said. 

Iolaus smirked. Autolycus's smile widened into his best predatory grin. 

It wasn't like he'd never done it before or anything, just not with anything approaching regularity. Or even mild frequency. Autolycus knew the whole guy-guy thing was getting popular in a major way, ever since that Plato guy-- or was it one of the others? They all tended to run together in his head, the philosophers-- but somehow the opportunity had rarely presented itself. Or, if it did, the propositioner was unappealing in the extreme, or else too decked out in leather and chains for the prospect to be a comfortable one. No; on the whole, the King of Thieves had generally preferred someone small, soft, and rounded in certain important places to be the one warming his bed. 

But he was nothing if not open-minded. 

So it had taken him a while to catch on to what Iolaus was doing. He'd been a little distracted, understandably so, and anyway he had gotten it, eventually, which did count for something. The little guy wasn't _completely_ unattractive, at least, and besides Autolycus found that he was starting to like him. A little. In a grudging sort of way. 

And anyway, he needed something to take his mind off of... well, everything. 

So he yanked off his boots and quickly unlaced his tunic, then strode over to the bed in a purposeful way and flopped down on the mattress, folding his hands behind his head and taking the opportunity to admire the way the muscles moved in his chest. Yep, the King of Thieves still had it. 

Iolaus rolled over to face him. The smirk was still there. "Fancy meeting you here." 

"Most people do," Autolycus said, feeling rather smug. 

Iolaus just stared at him, his smirk slowly fading. Then he, too, rolled over on his back and was silent. 

Autolycus sighed yet again. So that was how he wanted to play it. Well, they could wrestle about who wanted to be on top some other time. Suddenly all he wanted to do was just go to sleep. 

Sleep, however, refused to come; he settled in on top of the bedclothes and stared at the silver-and-velvet shadows on the ceiling, watching them shift as a lazy breeze rustled tree branches just outside the window. His chest felt uncomfortably hot in his long-sleeved shirt, but he didn't really want to strip down any further. Besides, he suspected it probably wouldn't help. 

His mind started working again, going over the plan once more, then revisiting the events of the past few days. Autolycus rather wished it would stop. The problem with being a master thinker, he decided, was that his brain didn't come with a snuffer. Not a temporary one, anyway. 

Finally, more to distract himself than anything else, he muttered, "I can't believe we're actually doing this." 

He'd thought Iolaus was asleep; he almost jumped when the thief yawned and spoke. "Doing what?" 

"This. Playing hero. It's unseemly." 

"I dunno," Iolaus murmured. "It's not so bad. 'Skinda fun." 

"You've gone loopy." 

"Yeah? Well, that's fun too." 

Another pause. 

"So," Autolycus said, "you wanna do this or what?" 

"All you had to do was ask." 

"Ask nicely and bend over, you mean." 

"Oh, no," Iolaus said, "it's not like that at all." 

"Isn't it?" 

"Of course not." He grinned. "We'll take turns." 

* * *

Much later, Auolycus lay silent, once again staring at the darkened ceiling. They'd rescued one of the blankets from the floor so they wouldn't freeze later, and now Iolaus was curled up beside him, head resting on his shoulder. Autolycus's arm had fallen asleep, but he didn't dare risk rousing his partner and having to explain why he was still awake. 

Partner. Lover. 

It wasn't as though he weren't exhausted; that, he was. Iolaus certainly knew what to do, and he did it often, and with gusto. As a matter of fact, it had been the best night he'd had in quite some time. 

And it couldn't happen again. 

The gods knew he wasn't picky when it came to sex. As long as the other person was reasonably attractive and had a certain amount of experience, Autolycus was open to all sorts of different experiences. He'd long ago decided there was no point in denying his urges as they came, or turning down opportunity when it came up to him in a bar and offered him a drink; sexual morals, after all, were outdated, decidedly unpopular, and for the most part pointless. It wasn't like he ever stuck around long enough to have to deal with the consequences. 

But one thing he'd learned, over a long and successful career, was that getting involved with his partners in crime was never a good idea. The few times he'd actually worked with lovers, it had always ended badly. There had been Luscious, and anyone could see how well _that_ one had ended; and Thoola, who'd thought they'd had "something special" and, when he spent the night with a local king's daughter to get them access to the castle, had subsequently abandoned the caper and turned Autolycus in to the king himself and his none-too-gentle palace guards. Definitely not an experience to remember, at least not without large quantities of alcohol on hand to dull the remembered humiliation. 

After Thoola, he'd thought he'd learned his lesson. Obviously not, seeing as he'd pretty much jumped Iolaus at the first opportunity that presented itself. 

It wasn't like he even liked the guy. Well, not really. It was just.... 

Just that, reluctant as he was to admit it to himself, he'd started developing a certain sneaking fondness for Iolaus in spite of everything. Anyone who could more or less hold his own against the King of Thieves was at least deserving of some respect, though Autolycus had respected several people over the years whom he hadn't tried to get into bed. And it wasn't like Iolaus was overly attractive, either. But.... 

It was something in his eyes, a distant sadness far back in the blue depths, like he was spending his life waiting for something that he knew didn't exist. Like he thought life was a fine idea for other people, but he personally might just be better off without it. 

It was something that drew Autolycus even without him knowing why. Birds of a feather, maybe. One screw-up recognizing another. 

He'd never thought he'd made mistakes before; he'd always considered himself just a victim of circumstance. But now, after these past few days.... 

Oh, stop dancing around it, already, he scolded himself. The fact is, you like the guy. You really... like... the guy. And you're worried that means you won't be able to throw him to the wolves if it comes down to saving your own skin. 

Sometimes, late at night, Autolycus really didn't like himself. 

Well, he wasn't going to change any time soon. 

Beside him, Iolaus sighed and mumbled something inaudible, then huddled in closer to his side. Autolycus very carefully didn't look at him. 

There was nothing for it. He had to stop... liking... Iolaus and start thinking of him as a means to an end, and that meant pretending the night had never happened. That meant it could never happen again. He had to keep his options open, especially when he was going up against someone as deadly as the Conqueror; he had to be able to sacrifice his partner if necessary. Surely it got easier after the first time. 

It could never happen again, at least not until Tiro was safe. And then, if they got that far, Iolaus probably wouldn't want to. 

The thought made his stomach knot up like the strings of a child's abandoned puppet, and Autolycus knew he was too far gone already. 

Professional. They had to be professional, distant, cool. Starting right away. Starting now. 

Autolycus looked down at the strong, compact, muscled body currently holding on to him like a drowning man clutching the only life raft on the horizon. 

Starting in the morning. 

End Part 4 

_Love it, hate it? Totally indifferent? Let me know._


	6. Chapter 5

"Half A Life" (5/11)  
by Maya Tawi 

_"If you want me  
It's changing  
If you want it  
Everything's changing" _

"How am I to know  
What you want me to feel?  
Counterfeit or real?  
(I'm not the one you wanted  
not the thing you keep)"  
-Sleater-Kinney 

The sun was already high in the sky by the time Iolaus dared to open his eyes. Light streamed across the wooden floor; dust motes danced lazily in midair. He sat up with a distinct sense of déjà vu, rubbed his eyes, and sneezed. 

He was about to flop back down-- he could probably get another couple hours of sleep, and then maybe Autolycus would be up for a quickie (he smiled sleepily at his own pun)-- when something across the room caught his eye. Iolaus squinted up at the ceiling and frowned. 

"What, exactly, are you doing up there?" he asked after a moment. Definitely déjà vu. 

Autolycus grinned down at him from the corner of the ceiling where he was pressed up against the walls, then dropped down to the floor. He landed in a crouch and flicked his wrist, letting his mechanized grappling hook retract back to its sheath in his sleeve. 

"Practicing," he explained, rising to his feet. "Nobody ever looks up. The ceiling's one of the best places to hide." 

"Thank you so very much for that beginner's lesson in basics, O Mighty King of Thieves. Where'd you get that thing, anyway?" 

"Picked up the parts in the market yesterday. It's pretty simple to put together, if you happen to know what you're doing." Autolycus brushed himself off and sauntered over to the bed, favoring Iolaus with an insufferable smirk. "About time you rejoined the world of the living." 

Iolaus groaned and dropped his head back on the pillow. "I don't believe this. Please don't tell me you're a morning person." 

"Why, does that bother you?" 

"Yes, it bothers me," he said through gritted teeth. 

Autolycus grinned again. "Then I'm a morning person." 

Iolaus glowered up at him. Autolycus was already washed and fully dressed in his green tunic and black leather breeches, his hair perfectly arranged and his mustache and small goatee neatly trimmed. His whole demeanor was one with a very definite message-- hands off, don't rumple. He obviously wasn't up for another round, and Iolaus was quickly losing his desire for the same. Next to him, in the harsh light of day, Iolaus-- naked, sweaty, and damp-- felt unbearably dirty. 

But when he looked closer, Autolycus's face was pale and shadowed, as though he hadn't gotten enough sleep, and his dark eyes kept sliding away from Iolaus's stare. He was obviously uncomfortable, and Iolaus was perversely glad of that fact. 

It was just casual sex, he reminded himself. You've had enough experience to know. 

Still, he couldn't shake the strangely hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach as he rolled out of bed and to his feet, deliberately unabashed by his nudity. He was aware of Autolycus's eyes burning into his back as he started to gather his clothes. 

His hair fell in front of his face, and safely hidden behind it, he couldn't help smiling a little. Autolycus had enjoyed himself at least; that much had been obvious. Now, apparently, everything was back to the way it had been before. At least they'd had fun. It was as much Autolycus's loss as his own. 

Even so, he thought, we probably shouldn't have done that till after. Everything that had made so much sense the night before now seemed a tangle of far-too-elastic logic. And now he was going to have one Hades of a time working with his new partner and managing to keep his mind on the job. Iolaus would never admit it to him, but Autolycus was really, really good. Almost as good as he thought he was. 

"I'm going to wash," was all he said. "I'll meet you downstairs for breakfast." 

Autolycus opened his mouth. 

"Unless you already have," Iolaus added, pulling on his breeches for the trek down the hall to the washroom. 

"Oh-- no, no," Autolycus said quickly. "No, that's fine. Great. Sounds like a plan." 

Iolaus slipped out into the hall. Just beyond the door, he hesitated, glancing back in time to see Autolycus drop down into a chair, looking unusually thoughtful, then squirm in his seat with a grimace of discomfort. 

He smiled again as he started towards the washroom. After a moment, he started to hum. 

* * *

Agamede sat sprawled on the hard marble chair, drumming her fingers lightly on one carved white arm. She was bored. More than that, she was bored and antsy. She wanted to be doing something, anything, other than what she was doing at the moment. 

She wanted to be helping her father, not staying at the temple keeping house. But she was one woman and the Conqueror was, well, the Conqueror, and even youthful arrogance is capable of occasionally recognizing its limitations. 

She wanted Sileia to be with her, so they could both go rescue her father together, or, barring that, so her fiancee could at least comfort her and be a warm body to hold on to. But Sileia was days away, and Agamede was on her own. 

"Leave it to the men," she muttered with a scowl. "Now there's a plan-- I _don't_ think." 

The temple was practically deserted. The bustle of the past couple of days, she knew, had been an anomaly; now that news of the thief who'd stolen some sort of rock from the Conqueror was dying down, so was the stream of mouths and ears eager for the latest gossip. Agamede didn't really care whether or not they were still congregating, just so long as they were doing it somewhere else. 

Sometimes she wondered why Hermes even bothered with temples. Most of the thieves she knew were more like Autolycus than any sort of devout worshipper; even her father, Hermes's very own high priest, had grown into his religion after he'd joined the priesthood. They simply weren't the type to turn religious until it looked like they might get caught. For a thief-- a real thief, not a purse-snatcher or pickpocket-- it was simply more practical to have faith in one's own abilities than in some god who regarded mortals as little more than fun toys to play with and sometimes break. Especially a god as flighty and capricious as Hermes. 

On the other hand, he had answered her prayer. Sort of. 

It was, she decided, too frustrating to bear thinking about. She did her best to put it out of her mind, but the uncertainty continued to gnaw at her. 

Just then her eyes narrowed, and she slumped further down in her seat, scowling again. "Speak of the hydras," she said darkly. 

Autolycus and his blond friend were walking swiftly up the path to the temple. They were still wearing the stupid cloaks, but at least they weren't bothering to fake-limp anymore. In fact, they looked like they had a rather unpleasant schedule to keep. She wondered what in Tartarus they could possibly want. 

She asked them, sharply, once they were in earshot. 

Autolycus looked uncomfortable. "Look, Ags--" 

"Don't you talk to me like you're my wise and mighty older brother, Autolycus, I'd kill myself if I thought we were related." 

The blond muttered something that sounded like, "Yeah, she loves you all right." 

Autolycus seemed caught halfway between alarmed and entertained. Then he nudged his friend, and the blond rolled his eyes and discreetly stepped away. 

"Look," Autolycus said again, in an undertone, once his partner was out of range. "I know how much you want to help. If I were in your position--" He hesitated a shade too long, just long enough for Agamede to suspect he wasn't telling the whole truth when he continued, "Well, frankly, I can't imagine being in your position. Sorry. But it's not like we don't want your help, it's just--" 

"I understand," she interrupted. "I'm just a little girl playing at thievery. I'd be no real use, right?" 

"That's not it at all. In fact, we came here the first time to ask for your help." 

Agamede glowered at him. "Dad always said-- says-- that it's not becoming for a girl to be a thief. He wants me to be a good fluffy little housewife. The problem is he can't stand meek, docile women; he just feels like I should be one, for propriety's sake." She sighed. "I think he wishes I'd been a boy. Everything would have been so much less confusing then." 

"That's Tiro for you. Don't tell him I ever actually said this, 'cause he'd probably kill me, but he's terrified that he raised you wrong, that he made some sort of horrible mistake that wouldn't have happened if your mother had been alive. He's worried that he did something wrong, and for your father to doubt his own competence, well, you know it's a big deal for him. You're important to him. He just wants to think he's doing what's best for you." 

Agamede bit her lower lip. 

Autolycus took a deep breath, paused, and then said, "That's him. Not me. Some of the best thieves in the business are women. The world's changing. I mean, look at us-- the entirety of the known world is being ruled by a cruel, crazed, power-mad but very _female_ despot." 

She folded her arms across her chest, waiting for the point. 

"All I'm saying is, I know Tiro is your father and everything, but-- and I have to say it-- this isn't about you, and it's pretty damned immature of you to keep thinking it is. It has nothing to do with what I think of you as a person, or as a thief. It's about me and Iolaus getting Tiro in trouble, and now we have to get him out. And while I would ordinarily welcome any input you would care to give, you owe it to Sileia not to get involved, at least not without her knowing." His smile looked more like a grimace. "It's all part of this responsibility thing I keep hearing about. I don't think I like it too much." 

Agamede narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to snap back at him. Then she closed it again and thought for a minute. "You and Iolaus, huh?" 

The thief glanced over at the man in question. Iolaus was leaning against the door to the temple, his arms crossed and his face stony. "Yeah," he murmured, with a brief expression that the priest's daughter couldn't quite place. "The two of us." 

Agamede stared at him, then at Iolaus. "Why did you come back to tell me all this?" 

"Because...." His eyes slid away from hers. "Oh, Tartarus. Because I didn't want to leave things the way they were." 

"Because you didn't want me to do anything stupid and mess things up, you mean." 

"Because I wanted you to understand why I feel the way I do. And to know it's nothing personal." 

Agamede sighed, then set her jaw, abruptly coming to a decision. "Get out of here." 

He blinked. "Excuse me?" 

She suddenly felt very tired. It had been a long, sleepless night. "Leave," she said again. "Go away. Because you're actually making some small amount of sense, but if you don't leave I'm gonna end up making you take me anyway." 

Autolycus inclined his head and turned to go. Then he stopped and said softly, "Agamede?" 

"What." 

His voice was barely audible. "Thank you." 

"If he's hurt," she said coldly, "I'll kill you both. It's on your head, buddy. Remember that." 

Autolycus seemed about to say something. He caught himself and, shaking his head, hurried down the stairs. Iolaus followed more slowly. 

They stepped out onto the road, soon losing themselves in the crowd despite Agamede's watchful eye. 

She sat down heavily in the chair again and sighed again. 

"Why he doesn't have a cushion here, I'll never know," she said. 

Closing her eyes, she found herself overwhelmed by a sudden wave of longing, the strength of which surprised even her. She just had to wait for Sileia to arrive. Everything would be all right then. 

Under the warm sun of mid-morning, Agamede drifted off to thoughts of the strong, capable woman whom she wanted beside her more than anything in the world. 

* * *

Autolycus cast surreptitious glances at the man beside him as they walked. Something was wrong, and he had the disturbing feeling that he knew what it was. There was an uneasy energy between them, not something he was used to feeling the morning after. Of course, that might have had something to do with the fact that he never actually stuck around for the morning after. 

He was pretty sure it wasn't the sex itself. Blondie had certainly enjoyed himself well enough at the time, hadn't he? Autolycus's ego wouldn't allow for thinking otherwise, which was good, because that way lay madness and psychosomatic performance inadequacies. 

So it had to be his subtle dismissal that morning. Damn it, Autolycus had tried to be pleasant about it-- well, as pleasant as one could be in such situations. Didn't Iolaus understand that the job would go much easier if they kept everything impersonal? One mistake was enough. His body begged to differ. He did his kingly best to ignore it for once. 

Or else Blondie just had something else on his mind. Maybe he'd knocked up some nice young slip of a girl. Maybe he'd found some time to research the survival rate of thieves who tried to break into the Conqueror's castle. (Short answer: slim to absolutely nil.) Maybe he had some sort of exotic sexually transmitted disease.... 

Autolycus forced himself to ignore the sudden itchiness in his pants. Sympathetic reaction, that was all. 

Finally, though, he just couldn't take it anymore. "What's going on?" 

Iolaus didn't look at him. "Meaning?" 

"Meaning you're not your usual irritating self." Autolycus resisted the urge to flinch. That had come out a lot less lightly than he'd intended. 

"Waking up to find a lunatic dangling from the ceiling tends to have that effect on me." 

Autolycus rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Look, if there's a problem I think I deserve to know. Being that you're going to have my life in your hands and all." 

"And vice versa," Iolaus muttered. "Nothing's wrong, okay?" 

"You can do your job?" 

"Yes, I can do my job." 

"Because if something's wrong--" 

Iolaus stopped in his tracks. "If something's wrong, you'll what?" he demanded. "Set me straight with a few well-chosen words? Just like you showed Agamede the error of her ways?" 

Autolycus felt his jaw drop. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Her fucking father's in mortal fucking danger, Autolycus, all because of us, and you won't even let her help because you don't want to get her killed! She's a big girl, you know. She can make her own decisions!" 

"What, you think I should've let her come along? And when her fiancee comes and finds her dead body waiting, what am I supposed to say then?" 

"Oh, I don't know, tell the truth, maybe?" 

"Oh, now there's a genius solution, I don't know why I never thought of that! I thought you were the one babbling on about responsibility yesterday. If you didn't mean it, I'm happy to leave, right now." Iolaus didn't say anything, and Autolycus added, "Why are you so upset over Agamede, anyway?" 

"This has nothing to do with Agamede!" 

"Then what the fuck are you on about?" 

Iolaus whirled around and started to storm away. "I don't want to talk about this." 

"Well, obviously." Autolycus grabbed his arm, forcing him to a stop. Iolaus jerked away. "If this is about last night, it was a good time, okay? I didn't know you'd expect hearts and flowers afterwards, and besides, if you'll recall, you threw yourself at me--" 

"Oh, would you get over yourself already?" Iolaus threw his hands up in frustration. "Not everything in the world is about you! If your ego were any bigger, there wouldn't be enough room in the universe for the both of you! Like I'd fall all to pieces if I never got to fuck you again!" 

Autolycus jumped as though he'd been branded. Heads were starting to turn in their direction. To his horror, he felt his face growing warm. 

"Would you keep it down?" he hissed, his eyes darting to the side. 

Iolaus gave him a malicious, unnerving, and altogether unpleasant smile. "What, you don't want your precious reputation hurt? Don't want people to know the King of Thieves takes it up the ass?" 

"No, I just don't enjoy discussing my sex life in public at the top of my lungs!" Autolycus snapped under his breath. "Can we please take this somewhere else?" 

Iolaus, apparently overjoyed by this new ammunition, paid him no heed. "Come on, admit it. That was your first time, wasn't it?" 

Autolycus's eyebrows shot up. "What?" 

"Oh, don't be embarrassed, it's nothing to be ashamed of. You certainly felt like a virgin--" 

Before he knew what he was doing, Autolycus had grabbed Iolaus by the collar of his cloak and hauled him up to eye level. "No, it was not my first time," he forced out through gritted teeth. "It's just been a while. Okay? Can we drop this now, please?" 

Iolaus met his gaze calmly. Then he reached up, grasping the hands that held him. Without breaking his stare, he wrapped his fingers around Autolycus's and wrenched them away. 

They stood like that for a few moments, holding hands in a bizarre parody of affection, glaring at each other with an almost palpable heat. A crowd of interested spectators had started to assemble, and Autolycus was aware of the eyes burning into them, of feeling far too exposed and vulnerable here in the middle of the street. But he couldn't concentrate on much besides the look on Iolaus's face. 

Then Iolaus said quietly, "Could've fooled me." 

Autolycus yanked his hands back and, without thinking, drove his left fist into Iolaus's face. 

Iolaus staggered back, his hands flying to his jaw, wiping away blood from his newly split lip. Autolycus watched him warily. 

Well, he'd certainly kept things professional. 

Iolaus straightened, looking like a Fury-- eyes blazing, fists clenched at his side, ready to fight. Autolycus took a step back. 

"Now, listen," he began. "We're even now. You have to admit, I owed you that--" 

Iolaus turned and his foot shot out, slamming into Autolycus's solar plexus. Autolycus doubled over, his words cutting off in a harsh wheeze; for a few seconds that lasted far too long, he seriously considered being sick. The crowd, bloodthirsty as crowds tended to be, started to cheer. 

Autolycus steadied himself and managed to catch his breath, slowly unfolding into an upright position. Iolaus, to his surprise, wasn't pressing the advantage, instead hanging back and waiting for him to make the next move. He looked almost... apologetic? No, definitely not apologetic. 

Autolycus marched towards him. 

"Don't you fucking push me around," he said softly, jabbing a finger into Iolaus's chest for emphasis. Iolaus flinched but didn't move away. "Like I said, it was your idea. Now I suggest we get out of here before the both of us get arrested." 

Iolaus's mouth twisted. It was a particularly ugly expression on top of his swollen, split lip. "There you go again, being the all-knowing, sensible one. You know what's best for everybody, don't you? Self-righteousness doesn't suit you, Autolycus." 

"Okay, fine," Autolycus growled. "I'll be the immature brat, and you do all the work." 

"And what's that supposed to mean?" 

"Only that I don't give two flying harpies about 'setting you straight', I just want to get through this alive!" 

Iolaus threw up his hands again. "Oh, so I've been immature! My mistake. I thought you could handle it!" 

"Handle it?" Autolycus echoed, his voice rising. "Now you listen to me, you little--" 

"Listen to you, right. Like you know everything. You're so full of yourself! It's just killing you to work with me, isn't it? Especially after I succeeded where you got caught!" 

"That wasn't even you!" 

"So why are you always trying to prove yourself better than me?" Iolaus countered. "Face it-- you just can't deal with it!" 

Autolycus glared at him. "Oh, of all the people to be saddled with--" 

"Of all the people to be _stuck_ with!" 

"There they are! Get them!" 

The cry came from a nearby guard-- five little words, money-back guaranteed to get the attention of any thief. Iolaus and Autolycus shut up, exchanged glances, and turned to run. 

More guards blocked the way. 

"Oh, Tartarus on a bad day," Autolycus moaned. "This just keeps getting better and better." 

"Would you quit whining already?" Iolaus shot back, retreating. 

"Oh, well, do you have any better ideas?" 

"I guess there's really only one thing we can do," Iolaus said, as the guards closed in around them, hefting crossbows and grinning with malicious anticipation. 

Autolycus cast a quick, speculative glance around him. No handy trees, not even any nearby buildings. They had, he noted despondedly, stopped to argue right in the middle of the road, right in the middle of town. They really should have chosen a more escape-handy spot. Like, say, in the next town over. 

"I was afraid you'd say that," he sighed. 

They circled around so that they stood back to back. 

"How many do you count?" 

"Five on my side," Autolycus said. "You?" 

"Four." 

"All armed?" 

"Yep." 

"Damn." 

"You have such a way with words." 

The guards' fingers tightened on the crossbow triggers. 

"Now!" 

Expecting a sudden attack, the guards let fly with their arrows directly towards the center of the circle. The two thieves, however, were no longer there; they had hit the dirt, rolling towards the circle's edges. Four guards went down, struck by their own crossbow bolts. 

Autolycus jumped up again before the remaining bewildered guards could reload and punched two of them in the face, then snatched their crossbows away as they reeled back, dazed. "These are the guards the Conqueror sent after us? I'm insulted." 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Iolaus was doing the same. "I don't think she's trying very hard," he agreed. The fifth guard still standing lunged at him, and he kicked his attacker in the gut. Autolycus winced in sympathy. 

Another cheer went up from the assembled citizens of Corinth, who had finally gotten their fight. 

The five remaining guards straightened and began to advance. They were all unarmed now, which would theoretically even the odds somewhat, if only all five of them hadn't been built like Mount Etna. Between them they made up a mountain range. And the volcanos were about to blow. 

Autolycus and Iolaus backed away, taking up defensive stances. "First chance you get," Autolycus said under his breath, "run for it." 

"Aw, come on," Iolaus said, just as quietly. "This could be fun." 

"If that's your idea of fun--" He broke off. "All right, you stay and play. I'm getting out of here." 

One of the guards grinned, showing off crooked, rotting teeth. "You're dead," he snarled. 

Iolaus wrinkled his nose. "What, you're gonna kill us with bad breath?" 

The guards attacked, and the fight began in earnest. The spectators stood around and did what they did best. 

One particularly pissed-off guard launched a hook punch right at Autolycus's face; he sidestepped it and smashed his own fist into the base of the idiot's skull, and the guard hit the ground with a satisfying thud. 

Caught up in the moment, he yelled, "See that? I'm a lover _and_ a fighter!" 

He thought he saw Iolaus roll his eyes, and shot a triumphant grin in the blond thief's direction. Then a fist slammed into his stomach, doubling him over and dragging his attention back to the fight. 

Eventually he made his way out of the circle of guards, to the raucous cheers of the surrounding crowd. Autolycus turned to run, then hesitated and glanced back over his shoulder. 

Iolaus had been holding his own, better than Autolycus even; Autolycus, after all, made a point of running away from fights whenever he could. Of course, some things couldn't be avoided, but he certainly didn't _enjoy_ fighting, whereas Iolaus seemed almost to relish the chance to break some noses. He was certainly throwing himself wholeheartedly into this particular fight. 

Or had been, until some bright guard had wrapped his arms around Iolaus's chest and, taking advantage of his lack of height, lifted him up into the air. Iolaus was taking the opportunity to deliver a few stunning blows to the other men's chests, but, much as he struggled, his captor's grip showed no signs of weakening. 

"What would he do without me," Autolycus muttered, scooping up a handy wooden board from the street that had broken off the side of a wagon at some point and striding back into the fray. Another guard tried to intercept him, but he jabbed the end of the board into the man's stomach and went on without a backwards glance. The others, luckily, were too preoccupied with subduing Iolaus to notice his approach. 

He tapped Iolaus's main assailant on the shoulder. The guard turned, still clutching his furiously fighting bundle. Autolycus ducked a particularly well-aimed kick and popped back up with a cocky grin. "Hi." 

"You," the guard growled. 

"Me," Autolycus agreed, and slammed the board as hard as he could into the side of the guard's head. 

The mountain of a man buckled like a belt. He dropped Iolaus as he toppled backwards, eyes already closing as he lapsed into unconsciousness, and Iolaus hit the ground like a sack of bricks, with a sound effect to match. 

Autolycus dropped the board and stepped back. The other guards looked positively homicidal. 

Iolaus rolled over, groaning. "What, playtime's over?" 

Autolycus leaned down and grabbed his cloak, hauling him to his feet. "Just shut up and run." 

They did. Predictably, as soon as the still-conscious guards caught their collective breaths, they followed. 

The thieves pounded through the streets; Autolycus expected to lose their pursuers before too long, but to his dismay they actually seemed to be gaining. Apparently this particular branch of law enforcement had been chosen not only for their size but also for their long-distance running abilities. He felt like his lungs were about to pop out of his chest and make a break for it all on their own, but he kept going. At least he could still run. 

Of course, the problem with looking on the bright side was that it wasn't always that bright. 

"So does this make you a lover and a runner?" Iolaus puffed, coming up behind him. 

Autolycus opened his mouth to make a scathing retort but ended up gulping air instead. He contented himself with a glare and pushed on. 

"Got any idea where we're running to?" Iolaus panted. 

This time Autolycus managed to gasp, "Away." 

"Works for me." Iolaus dug his heels in and started running faster. 

Autolycus whimpered. 

Iolaus made a sudden sharp turn into a side alley. With no other ideas and the guards hot on his heels, Autolycus followed. 

* * *

"They came in here, I swear!" 

Zelus glowered at his fellow guard. Going after two thieves, that was grunt work. It was usually just a case of find, punch, and drag back to the dungeons. In such instances, stupidity was not necessarily a detriment. Incompetence was slightly more of a problem. And for Zelus, whininess was simply intolerable. 

Unfortunately, Tityus embodied all three. 

The man in question was currently spinning around in circles, demanding backup from his fellow guards. "You saw it? You saw it, right? They came in here, right?" 

The other guards, out of breath and doubled over from their exertions, just glared at him. 

Zelus looked around. The alley was an opening between two old stone houses, long deserted, dead-ending at a rotted wooden fence. Nobody lived nearby, and nobody in their right mind would want to; it was used primarily as a garbage dump. Piles of decaying vegetables and other human waste towered high above them, clinging to the crumbling stone walls. 

"I don't see anyone," he said sharply. "You been drinking again? I told you last time, I don't care what you do on your own time, but when you're on the job--" 

"They came in here!" Tityus yelped. 

Zelus rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, and I bet then they just vanished into thin air. Just like the guy did before." 

Tityus brightened. "Hey, yeah! Maybe he, like, it's his secret trick or-- hey!" 

A very skeptical Zelus had grabbed him by the wrist and was hauling him out of the alley. The other guards followed without comment. "Well, if they did, we're not gonna find them, now are we? Man, you're hopeless," Zelus grumbled. "I don't know why the Conqueror doesn't just put you out of your misery, it'd be like putting down a dog...." 

His voice trailed off into the distance as he disappeared from sight. 

* * *

Iolaus poked his head up. "I think they're gone." 

Autolycus sat up beside him, wiping his face and spitting. "That was your plan? That's the most disgusting thing I've ever--" He paused. "Well, actually...." 

"Ugh. I don't want to hear about it. It worked, didn't it?" Iolaus stood, brushing refuse off his clothes, then grabbed Autolycus's arm and yanked him to his feet, out of the piles of trash. "They couldn't see us, and nobody wanted to root around in the garbage dump to make sure." 

"Yeah, it worked. And now I'm gonna smell like somebody's week-old fish for the rest of the day!" 

"I hate to break it to you, Auto, but you don't usually smell like a rose garden anyway." 

"Funny," Autolycus snapped. "Very funny." 

"I thought so." 

There was a pause. 

"What were we fighting about, anyway?" Iolaus asked. 

"I have no idea. You started it." 

"Me? I'll have you know--" He stopped. "Oops. I'm doing it again, aren't I?" 

"Yeah," Autolycus said. "You are." 

They avoided each other's eyes. 

"Listen," Autolycus said after a brief silence. "I gotta, uh... go, uh, take care of some stuff. I'll, um, meet you back at the room, right?" 

"Right," Iolaus said quickly. "I've got some... things of my own. To do." 

"Good. That's good. So I'll see you." 

"Right." 

Another pause. 

"It was just fun," Iolaus said. "That's all." 

"That's all it was." 

"Nothing more." 

"Right," Autolycus agreed, and then, realizing that he was standing in one place and talking about absolutely nothing, he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned and walked out of the alley without a backwards glance. 

Iolaus stared after him for a while before he too left, lost in thought. 

* * *

The bodies still hung from the crosses, and the crosses still lined the walkways. Some bodies had been taken down and others put up in their place, but it didn't really matter. With fresh corpses or rotting ones, the effect was still the same. 

Iolaus kept his head down as he walked, fighting down the bile threatening to rise in his throat. He'd spent about five days in Corinth before being sent into hiding, but he still wasn't used to the sight. He didn't think he'd ever be. 

He wondered, again, how it had all happened. More, how people had just let it happen. Whoever has the most swords, has the right, he thought darkly. It was certainly true in the Conqueror's case. 

Then he shook his head, dismissing the thoughts as best he could. Now was not the time. That certainly wasn't the distraction he was looking for. 

The gruesome row of crucifixions gradually gave way to modest wooden homes. Iolaus slowed as he neared one with straggly flowers in the yard and dresses hanging on the clothesline, giving it a speculative glance. Then he shook his head and moved on. Polydora was a nice girl, but "girl" was in fact the operative word; he didn't feel like passing the time with someone who thought of Orpheus as Molpus's dad. Or, for that matter, someone who thought of Xena the Conqueror as the rightful ruler of Greece and the rest of the known world. 

He'd discarded the cloak once he'd left the center of town. It wasn't much of a disguise anymore; after the latest fiasco, the guards would be on the lookout for that particular article of clothing, if they hadn't been already. Aside from which, it stank. Anyone after his hide wouldn't have to be on the lookout for anything; they'd smell him coming. 

Further down the road, he turned onto a small, wooden footpath, and then again on a dirt path leading up to another house. Iolaus brushed his hair back, straightened his vest, and strolled up the path to the thatched, overgrown house. An easy grin spread across his face as he knocked on the door. 

It swung open after a few moments, revealing a woman with a wary expression on her face and a paintbrush in her hand. Dabs of paint were splattered over her face and her torn dress. She looked to be in her late thirties, with long dark hair piled on top of her head and lines starting to form around her eyes. Her face was sharp and alert; when she saw the man on her doorstep, she smiled wryly. 

"Iolaus," she said. "Now this is a surprise. I didn't expect to see you back here quite so soon." 

His grin grew wider. "And whyever not?" 

"Oh, don't get me wrong, it's a pleasant surprise. You just didn't strike me as the type for repeat visits." 

"See? Even an omniscient artist can be wrong sometimes." Iolaus cocked his head to the side, squinting in the sunlight. "So, am I allowed to come in? I wouldn't want to mess up your spic-and-span house." 

She rolled her eyes and stepped back. "Yes, that's right, make fun of my housekeeping skills. I'll tell you something, before anything happens, you, sir, are taking a bath. What were you doing, rolling around in it?" 

"As a matter of fact," Iolaus said, sauntering inside, "that's exactly what happened. How handy are you with a pair of scissors? And a needle and thread?" 

* * *

It was definitely a bad idea. 

Only a few hours before pulling off what was probably the riskiest job of his life, or at least in the past year, a job that was quite literally a matter of life or death, and Autolycus was well on his way to becoming drunk. 

Well, he had to give himself credit for sheer stupidity, at least. Or wouldn't it be the other way around? Wouldn't he have to take credit away? He supposed it depended on the type of credit in question. If it was bad credit, well, then, that would just be perfectly appropriate, wouldn't it? After all, who heard of a thief who paid off his credit? 

"An' I'm th'King," he mumbled. 

He was definitely on his way to the Land of the Truly Tanked. 

In fact, he decided a moment later, fumbling for his mug and squinting to try and get the damned thing to stay in one place, he could even see it from here, if he just... looked down at where he was standing. Or, rather, sitting. And if he managed not to fall flat on his face in the process. No maybes about it; Autolycus was trashed. 

And he wasn't even sure why. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but then, it always did. Something about Iolaus, he knew that. The little bastard. He knew they never should have gotten involved. 

That was the problem, really. Sex was great, one of the best things ever invented, in fact, and the buildup was part of the fun, and there'd certainly been plenty of that. It was just all the stuff that went with it that complicated things. That was when things got disturbing, and when the King of Thieves tended to turn and run the other way. 

That was when... a barmaid slid onto the stool next to him, propping her chin up on her fist and giving him a wide-eyed stare. 

Hello! Autolycus thought, straightening automatically. The fog in his brain seemed to clear a bit, and he gave her his most charming smile. 

"And what's a nice young lady like yourself doing here at this hour?" he inquired, his voice hardly slurred at all. 

The barmaid giggled. "What, does that line ever work?" 

"It serves its purpose," Autolycus said, "which is to make you laugh, breaking the conversational ice, so to speak, so we can move on to greater, far more interesting things. Which, as you may have noticed, we have." 

The girl managed to look both doubtful and playful at the same time. "Well, we've broken the ice, anyway," she allowed. "I'm not too sure about the rest yet." 

He waved his hand in a flourish that would ordinarily have accompanied a bow, if he'd thought he could manage one without toppling over. "In that case, I am in your service, my dear. Do with me what you will." 

She eyed him for a few moments, her face shining; then, as though on sudden impulse, she scooted in close, lowering her voice. "Just so you know," she murmured, "no one here'd dream of turning you in. We all think it's just great you got away from that bitch. You and the cute blond guy both-- what's his name again?" 

"Hyacinthus," Autolycus muttered, his face darkening, before he remembered that he was trying to forget all about the cute blond guy. Him and the cute blond guy both. 

After all, Thamyris couldn't do it, and look what'd happened to him. Stripped of his craft and hung out to dry. 

The barmaid frowned prettily. "Are you sure? That doesn't sound right. I'd swear it was something else...." 

He dismissed the matter with another wave of his hand. "Never mind that. He's not here right now, is he? So why don't you and I just...." He lowered his eyelids and met her (deceptively, he was sure) ingenuous gaze with a heated, penetrating stare. 

"Talk? Sure, we could talk." She moved even closer, settling her hand on his thigh. "I'd love to talk with someone like you. I don't think any of the other girls here could beat what we'd... talk about. I think I'd feel quite honored to... talk." 

Yeah, you and every woman from here to Naxos, Autolycus thought. And not a small number of men, either. But all he said was, "Now that sounds like...." 

He trailed off, eyes narrowing, as he looked at her-- really looked at her-- for the first time. She was short but not slight; her perpetually wide eyes were a bright, clear blue; her hair was blond and curly, falling around her shoulders and catching the light just so, and she had a smile that could light up an entire room.... 

"A really good idea, but unfortunately, I just remembered I have an appointment to keep," he finished smoothly, rising with a reasonable facsimile of his usual grace. "Business things, you know how it is, so if you'll excuse me, I'll just be off...." 

And with that, Autolycus hurried out of the tavern, his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved in his pockets, feeling the barmaid's bewildered gaze on his back all the way out the door. 

Tartarus take you, Iolaus, he thought, now you're ruining my casual sexual encounters with other people. I hope you're fucking happy. 

At that, he almost turned right back around and collected the bemused barmaid, just to spite his-- admittedly unwitting-- antagonist, but he didn't. To be purely practical, he couldn't make love to a barmaid when he kept seeing the face of another thief. That was just... far too disturbing on so many levels, he couldn't even begin to count. 

Being so resolved, Autolycus trudged on back towards the inn. 

* * *

The room, as it turned out, was occupied when he arrived. 

Not by guards, which was his first thought when he saw movement through the window, but by the only other person who really belonged there in the first place: Iolaus. 

Autolycus gripped the window ledge and swung himself up, over and in, pulling the curtain aside and dropping gracefully to the floor. Then he looked up-- and straight down the blade of a knife. 

He took a moment to recover from the shock; then he reached out and pushed the knife aside. 

"A little paranoid, are we?" he asked sarcastically. 

Iolaus returned his scowl. "We have a reason to be paranoid, remember?" he retorted, tucking the knife back in his belt. 

"Oh," Autolycus said. "Yeah. Point." 

His partner sniffed, then made a face. "You're not drunk, are you?" 

Yes. "No," he said, "it just so happens I'm--" He broke off, staring at the other thief. Iolaus's hair was rumpled, his eyes were bright, and-- most telling of all-- he smelled like... well, he certainly didn't smell like week-old fish. 

Autolycus narrowed his eyes. "You!" he accused, conveniently forgetting his own near miss with the girl at the tavern. "We're being chased by guards and our faces are plastered on every flat surface in town, and you decide you've got time for a quickie?" 

Iolaus looked puzzled. "What are you talking about? They haven't put wanted posters up yet." 

"Well, they might as well have! It's not like everyone doesn't know us by now anyway! I'll have you know that--" He stopped again, squinting; then his eyes went wide in alarm. "What in Tartarus did you do to your hair?" 

It wasn't just rumpled in a moment of wild abandon, he saw that now. It was... short. 

Autolycus moved forward, his hand outstretched, reaching for the offending locks. Iolaus took a hasty step back, wrinkling his nose. "Are you sure you're not drunk?" 

No. "Yes," he said, with great dignity. "Don't change the sh-- subject. And what is with that gods-awful purple vest? What happened to you, anyway? You look like--" Then the light dawned. "_Oh_," he said. "You look like the other you." 

Iolaus self-consciously touched the ends of his hair, dropping down onto the bed. It wasn't all that short-- it still fell at least to his chin-- but the effect was still startling. It made him seem older, somehow. "Yeah. I kind of had an idea. One that's a little better than duck-and-run." 

"Well, I'd love to hear it," Autolycus said, "if there wasn't something a little more important to talk about first." 

"More important than--" 

"Yes, yes, yes, don't spell it out for me, because I'm sick of hearing about it and it very well may be beside the point. Or if it's not, by now I just don't give a damn." 

Autolycus hesitated, trying to make sense of what he'd just said, and Iolaus said, "Are you sure--" 

"Yes. Now shut the fuck up. Look, I've been thinking about this." 

"So have I," Iolaus blurted out, jumping to his feet, "and I think we--" 

"I think we should steal something." 

"--need to--" Iolaus broke off in mid-sentence and snapped his mouth shut. He opened it again a couple of times, then said, "Okay, um, we're already stealing something, remember? Old, cranky, devious priest of Hermes, the one with the equally cranky daughter--" 

Autolycus waved his hands. "No, no, I mean before that. Right now. And not a person, a thing." 

Iolaus crossed his arms. "You are drunk." 

Yes. "I am not," Autolycus snapped. "I am merely fortified--" 

"Yeah, if by 'fortified' you mean _preserved_. Face it, you're completely sloshed. I can see the alcohol condensing around your face!" 

It was his turn to collapse on the bed. "Maybe. Maybe just the smallest bit. But it's still a good idea." 

"Not only drunk, but crazed--" 

"No, listen. Like you said, we both need to know how the other works. And I may know how you fuck, and very well I might add, but I don't know how you steal, and I think that's something we ought to know, 'cause, you know, we need all the help we can get." 

Iolaus still looked doubtful. "What did you have in mind?" 

"I still do have it in mind." Autolycus gestured grandly. "The Athens Travelling Museum is in town, and they close in a little over an hour. So what, you ask? Well, they just so happen to be the proud possessors, albeit not for very much longer, of the largest ruby this side of the Carpathians. So are you in or am I in... er, in with me--" He fumbled a bit before coming up with the correct phrase. "In this alone?" 

"You're drunk," Iolaus said again. Like he hadn't driven the point home already. Autolycus was starting to get the tiniest bit annoyed. 

"Mildly, mildly," he snapped. "And you, my diminuitive friend, have spent the last couple hours having sex, but did I mention it? Noooo." 

"Yes," Iolaus said, "actually, you did. What does that have to do with anything?" 

"Ah," Autolycus countered, "but I wasn't going to." 

"You already did, I mean. Before." 

"Before what?" 

Iolaus sighed. "Forget it." 

"Gladly," Autolycus said. "So?" 

"'So'? What 'so'?" 

"Don't make me ask again. I'll never get it right this time." 

"Oh, that." 

"Yeah. That." 

"You're fucking drunk," Iolaus snapped. "You can barely lace up your own boots, much less break into the Athens Travelling Museum--" 

"Shows what you know," Autolycus said. "I've pulled some of my best jobs while halfway to Elysia." 

Iolaus hesitated, mouth open. Autolycus pressed, "Do I or do I not have a point? It's all about the technique. Seeing me-- you-- in action...." 

He trailed off, and Iolaus sighed again. "You do have a point. I'm just saying that--" 

Autolycus brightened. "You're in? I knew you'd be in." 

"I," Iolaus said, "am not in. I am beginning to wade in. I'm vaguely in. I'm in with serious reservations." 

"You don't need 'em. It's not an official event. Far as I know, we're the only ones that thought of it." 

"That's not what I meant." 

"It isn't?" 

"No." 

"What did you mean?" 

"You know, it's the damnedest thing. I haven't the faintest idea." 

"Oh," Autolycus said. "Good." He stared up at Iolaus, for a brief moment certain that he was just going to take one last step forward and lean over, and-- 

And then Iolaus shook his head and asked, "Are you always like this when you're drunk?" 

"No," Autolycus said, standing, "sometimes I'm passed out. Let's go, shall we? Places to go, things to steal, and all that sort." 

He walked over to the window and jumped out. Grumbling to himself, Iolaus followed. 

End Part 5 

_Feedback: It's better than sex, if you do it right. If you don't believe me, then you clearly need more practice._


	7. Chapter 6

"Half A Life" (6/11)  
by Maya Tawi 

_"Never said I wanted anything to do with you  
Now you're coming back to me like you got something to prove"  
-The Butchies_

"I don't get it," Glaphyra said. 

She stood in the dungeon, staring into the old man's cell as the castle torturers did their jobs. Her blond hair was pulled back tightly from her face, save for a few braided strands that hung loose, and she wore not a uniform but her ordinary fighting leathers. Members of the Conqueror's elite army were only required to wear what they felt most comfortable in. 

To her right, but not at her side, stood Xena the Conqueror, in all her resplendent glory. The Conqueror, Glaphyra thought, never stood beside anybody; others merely existed in her shadow. As she did now. 

If she had to choose, Glaphyra would have to say that she preferred the old Xena, the Warrior Princess, to the new and improved version. There was a magic in fighting on the open road that was lost within the stuffy confines of the old castle, and the stone walls seemed to have left their mark on her old mentor as well. Xena was more thoughtful now, more convoluted and secretive, and slower to change. She looked older, too. 

Even so, when Xena had called for her old protégé, Glaphyra had given up her slavery business in an Athens instant and come to serve. Just because you wouldn't pick something for yourself didn't mean you didn't go when the Destroyer of Nations beckoned you to her side. 

Now the Conqueror raised her eyebrows, and Glaphyra added, "I meant about the thieves. You could have them picked up at any time, or even go get them yourself. Why don't you?" 

"Get them myself?" 

"If you wanted to." 

"Well, now," Xena said, "it's certainly an attractive idea, but it won't be necessary. I have to say I regret that. I kind of miss the action of the old days." 

Glaphyra shrugged. "You're the Conqueror. If you want to start a war to fight on the front lines, you can." 

"Yes, I can, but what effect would it have on the power I wield? The people don't want a human dictator, they want an ice-cold marble despot so that they feel justified living under my rule. And marble statues control wars. They don't fight them." 

"But to fight, and survive unharmed, that'd make you seem even more invincible in their eyes, wouldn't it?" 

"Maybe," Xena said. She looked slightly wistful. "Possibly. It's a thought." 

There was a pause, and then Glaphyra repeated, "So why don't you?" 

"Why don't I-- oh. The thieves?" Xena smiled. "There's no need. Why waste my good soldiers when they could be doing more important things? Those two should be showing up on our doorstep any day now." 

At Glaphyra's look of bewilderment, she inclined her head towards the man in the cell. "I've been checking on our thieves. Autolycus, as far as we know, has never killed anyone. Oh, he's stolen just about everything you could think of, but he's never taken a life. He's also been friends with the old man for a long time. I can't imagine he intends to take up murder now, however incidental it may be. He's no killer. 

"Now Iolaus, he made his first kill at age sixteen, and continued on in that vein for some time, an occasional hired sword for the gang of thieves he ran with. Then, at twenty-three years, he killed someone in a fight who turned out to be an eight year old girl. Our stone-cold killer was so shaken that he hopped a ship to Chin that night and stayed away until last summer, and ever since he's been back he has killed not one person, through knifepoint or negligence." She smiled again. "He's wounded, in a fight, and perhaps under such circumstances he woud still be willing to kill. But he hasn't yet." 

Glaphyra nodded. "So they won't want to let the old man die. So they'll come for him, that's what you're saying?" Privately, she thought Xena gave them too much credit. They were, after all, men. 

The Conqueror wasn't listening; she was mouthing something to herself, staring off into the distant reaches of the dungeon. Then she said suddenly, sounding breathless, "Glaphyra, I've gotten slow." 

I could have told you that, the soldier thought, but she didn't say it. After all, a slow Xena was still a threat to nine-tenths of the population. Aloud she said, "How's that?" 

Xena didn't answer. She spun around and started up the steps. "Get Palaemon," she called over her shoulder. "Have him send in every guard that might have come in contact with our thieves. And I do mean every single one." 

"Yes ma'am." Glaphyra cast one last dispassionate glance into the cell, then turned and followed her leader. 

* * *

"That man just stole the Dagger of Thestor!" 

The cry came from an older woman with fluffy blond curls, a frumpy dress, and a terrifyingly made-up face. The alleged thief was dressed all in black, with a matching hood covering his face, and was currently headed towards the exit at a rapid clip. 

Being a museum guard was usually a boring occupation. Museum robberies were not very common; there were always easier ways to make a dinar. Less painful ways, too-- the Conqueror's punishment for such an infraction was to chop the hands off at the wrists. 

The Conqueror, it seemed, set great store by national treasures. 

So it took Sicalus and Scyrius, Museum Guards Extraordinaire, a few seconds to jolt into action. They hesitated first, glancing back and forth between the indignant old lady and the disappearing thief. 

"Well?" the old lady demanded in an alarming falsetto. She crossed her arms and started to tap her foot, glaring at them. "Aren't you going to go after the man? On with you, you hulking brutes! What are you here for, anyway?" 

"Right away, ma'am," Scyrius rumbled. He headed after the thief at an ominous lumber, while Sicalus started to herd the other visitors out the door, repeating over and over, "The museum is closed, the museum is closed," although sometimes to particularly outraged patrons, just for variety, he'd growl, "Quit yer whining." 

The old lady was among the crowd he shooed out into the courtyard, stalking along with her head held high. Oddly enough, though, by the time Sicalus locked the door behind him, she was nowhere to be seen. 

* * *

Iolaus glanced around cautiously, then stepped back around the corner and dropped the fluffy wig on the floor. He took another long look and said, "All clear." 

A figure dropped down from the ceiling; he flicked his wrist, and the grappling hook embedded in the ceiling beam retracted to its sheath under his sleeve. "What'd I tell you?" Autolycus said triumphantly, pulling off his hood and tossing it to the floor next to the discarded wig. He straightened his black shirt and pulled his bright green tunic back on over it. "They never look up. Morons." 

Iolaus was having none of it. "Oh, please. That's the most elementary technique in the scroll. Every good thief knows it." 

"Ah, but I pull it off with _style_." Autolycus bowed, managing to sway only a little, and then straightened with a look of faint relief. He slipped the Dagger of Thestor from his ankle sheath and examined it critically, then tossed it over his shoulder. "Piece of junk." 

Iolaus sighed. "Why, exactly, are we here?" 

Autolycus frowned. "From a philoshophical standpoint? 'Cause if you've got a few hours, I could take a whack at answering that, but--" 

"I'd like to take a whack at your hard bloody head," Iolaus muttered. He raised his voice. "I mean in a more literal sense. Why are we _here_?" 

"Good, 'cause philoshophy's a load of crap anyway." Autolycus made a show of pondering the question, stroking his mustache and striving to look thoughtful. "We're here because you're a hopelessly boring stick-in-the-mud who wouldn't know a good time unless it fell on you tits first." 

"Excuse me?" 

He grinned rakishly. "Did I say that out loud? I meant--" 

"What's this obsession of yours over me and Melite, anyway?" Iolaus demanded. "So we had sex. So? You and I did too, if you'll remember, and I don't notice you harping on it--" 

"Harping? Who's harping? I'm not harping." Autolycus's expression was a study in innocence that fit him about as well as an extra-large satyr-wool sweater fit a minnow. "Melite, that's her name?" he added, obviously filing the name away for future sinister use. "Interesting. Oh, no reason. Just curious. No, we're doing this to see how well we work together. So far we're off to a fantastic start, wouldn't you agree?" 

Iolaus just scowled. "Can we get on with this?" 

"By all means, dear boy." Autolycus sauntered across the room and through a doorway on the far wall, into a smaller, better appointed chamber. "Ah, here we are," he said, his voice suddenly filled with a kind of... reverence? "The Ruby of Porphyrion." 

"You know, the expression on your face, you'd think you're about to get down on your knees and worship the thing." 

"I don't get on my knees... to worship." 

Iolaus grinned despite himself. "As you proved last night." He paused. "Uh, forget I mentioned it." 

"Gladly." Autolycus looked more then a little discomfited, but he still didn't take his eyes off the ruby. "Um, this, oh, uh, this security system-- uh, don't say-- I've got it figured out, it's-- see, it's this thing here--" 

"Triggered spikes," Iolaus said. "Weighted alarm. Big guys outside with sharp weapons. Yeah, they spared no extremes on this one. You sure we can't steal something a little less impossible to get our hands on?" 

"Of course not!" Autolycus said, affronted. "Where's the fun in that?" 

Iolaus sighed. "Just checking." 

"Besides, this is a challenge. If we can't steal this ruby, what chance to we have with Tiro?" 

"If we get caught and killed, what chance do we have of even trying?" 

"Aside from which, this is a piece of baklava." 

"Sure it is." 

"Trust me." 

"Scariest two words in the Greek language." 

"And I didn't need your help figuring out the security system." 

"If you say so." 

Autolycus' eyebrows drew together. "I'm serious. If you'd just--" 

"I understand. Your blood wasn't quite headed for your brain, was it?" Autolycus growled, frustrated, and Iolaus grinned again. "What, you're the only one allowed to know how these things work? Look, pal, I may not be quote-unquote royalty, but I am a fairly successful thief. Let's just pretend I actually know what I'm doing, huh?" 

"I _am_ the _King_ of-" 

"Yeah, yeah. Are you still drunk?" 

"As a matter of fact," Autolycus said, drawing himself up, "what with the exertion, the activity, the excitement, the--" 

"Commission of illegal activities?" 

"Be that as it may, the fact remains that I am--" 

"Still drunk," Iolaus concluded, as Autolycus proceeded to turn, trip over his feet, and pitch towards the very ruby they were theoretically attempting to steal. Iolaus caught him just before he set off the alarms, staggering backwards a few steps under his weight. "Great. This is fucking great. Why I even agreed to--" 

"Well, I'm not doing half bad, am I?" Autolycus demanded, staggering upright and gripping Iolaus much harder, he was sure, than was strictly necessary to stay upright. "I can work when I'm drunk, you know, I've had to do it quite a few times, and I can handle myself as long as-- as long as--" 

"As long as you don't have to move faster than a crawl?" 

"Now that is just not fair. I managed to lose the human hydra, didn't I?" Autolycus scowled, jabbing a finger in Iolaus' face. "And it's not like I've got a lot of control over these thingsh, you know-- things--" 

Footsteps approached in the hallway outside, then receded. 

They froze. 

"I think," Iolaus whispered weakly, "we should probably get this over with." 

"Agreed." 

They turned back to the ruby, all business. 

"Normally with these automatic spikes, I just cut through the bottom," Autolycus said quietly. "That way they can shoot out as far as they want and my body parts don't happen to be in the way. But with this weighted alarm...." He trailed off. 

Iolaus studied it thoughtfully. "With this alarm, as soon as the ruby's off its pedestal it's a moot point anyway. I wonder if it's actually an alarm, or if it sets of another trap?" 

"I prefer not to have to find out." Autolycus stroked his chin. "Very good security, all in all. Very clever." 

"You think...?" 

"Five minutes. Tops." 

"Oh. Well, good, 'cause those guards are gonna figure out something's up soon, and it'd be hard to rescue anyone without any hands." 

"Oh, please. Those mental deficients, realize what's going on?" Autolycus snorted. "Ye of too much faith. All right, now let's see how this bad boy works." 

He dropped down to his knees, with a quick, self-conscious glance at Iolaus, who prudently kept his mouth shut, and examined the base of the pedestal. After a moment he said, "Oh, now that's just too easy." 

"Easy?" 

"Hardly even a challenge. I'm insulted." 

"Don't be insulted," Iolaus said. "This is a good thing. What's easy?" 

"Oh, you mean besides a certain short blond thief?" Autolycus stood, ignoring Iolaus's irritated expression. "The weighted alarm. There are strings attached to this plate the ruby is on, pulling up with just enough pressure to cancel out the weight of the gem. You pick up the ruby, it pulls the plate up, and whatever's supposed to happen, happens." 

"Oh. Easy enough." And Iolaus pulled a knife from his belt, felt along the top of the case holding the ruby, and, when he found the string-- coming out of a pinprick hole in the stone, headed towards the ceiling-- he cut it with a quick flick of his wrist. 

"No, wait, don't--" Autolycus began. 

The nearly invisible coil of string fell harmlessly to the top of the pedestal. Above, the other half of the thread shot towards the ceiling and disappeared. 

Iolaus raised his eyebrows. "You were saying?" 

Autolycus growled. 

Iolaus grinned. "You worry too much." 

"And you, apparently, don't worry enough." 

"What's to worry about? By the way, nice of you to care." 

"What's to--" Autolycus cut himself off and sighed, sounding exasperated. "Forget it." 

"Now what?" 

"Now we get the damned thing out of there without setting off the spikes." 

"I figured that much," Iolaus said. "I was hoping you'd have a more specific--" 

He broke off in as Autolycus, who had started fishing around in his tunic for something, gave a triumphant "Aha!" and produced some kind of... device. 

Iolaus stared. 

As far as he could tell, it was just an oversized screw attached to a hand crank. From Autolycus' expression, it might as well have been Hera's Grail. 

"What is it?" he asked. 

"Watch and learn, my small friend." Autolycus placed the tip of the screw against the curved underside of the pedestal and began to quickly turn the hand crank. The metal screw drilled effortlessly into the soft limestone. 

"You know," Iolaus said, watching, "that isn't even very funny anymore. It might have been vaguely amusing at first, but far from it now. So I'm short. So what? I'm well aware of the fact, and I don't need to be reminded of it every five--" 

"Aha!" Autolycus announced again. He quickly retracted the screw, then stuck two fingers through the brand-new hole in the pedestal and wiggled. 

Iolaus applauded. "Very good. Nice job. That's an awfully small hole, think you can get your whole hand up there?" 

Autolycus gave him a very slow, pointed look. Iolaus felt his face grow hot as he realized what he had just said. 

Autolycus smirked. "Unfortunately for you, you'll never find out." He pulled out another device. This one looked like a long, hinged pair of tongs. Iolaus watched stonily as he maneuvered the tongs through the hole, grasped the ruby, and slowly withdrew it. 

Autolycus stood and chuckled with satisfaction. He tucked the tongs and the hand-cranked screw away again, then turned around and flipped his prize high into the air, catching it deftly behind his back. 

"There," he announced. "Now tell me that wasn't impressive." 

"That," Iolaus said, "was incredibly simple." 

"No job too challenging for the King of Thieves." 

Iolaus eyed him. "I bet I could come up with a job even you couldn't do." 

"Yeah? Dream on, Sh-- Blondie. Nothing is beyond me." 

"Except the Conqueror's treasury, it seems." 

"Minor setback," Autolycus said, holding up a cautioning finger. "I had that nailed. If she just hadn't--" 

"Caught you in the act? Yeah, that kind of thing does tend to put a cramp in the whole thieving process." 

Autolycus opened his mouth and shut it again. Then he said, "Yeah, well, that's beside the point. The Conqueror doesn't count, 'cause after this you and I are gonna get as far away from her ever-alluring body as we can." 

"So you'll take the bet, then?" 

"I most certainly will," Autolycus said haughtily. "You name it, I'll steal it, and you'll give me every last sorry dinar you have." He dropped the gem into his pocket and rubbed his hands together. "This is my kind of bet." 

"Don't be too sure," Iolaus warned. He held his hand out, and Autolycus grasped his forearm, sealing the deal. 

After a moment, Iolaus said, "Does this mean we're not fighting anymore?" 

"Maybe. But I still think you're a slut." 

"And you aren't?" 

"I never said it was a bad thing." 

Staring into Autolycus's dark, uncharacteristically serious eyes, Iolaus felt his own smile start to fade. He took a deep breath. "Listen--" 

"Hey! This door's barricaded!" 

The shout was muffled, coming as it did from the other side of the locked door, but it hardly needed to be any louder. Two pairs of eyes widened in identical expressions of panic. 

Large fists started pounding on the door. It rattled on its hinges. 

"Time to go." 

"Quite." 

They turned and fled. 

Still, Iolaus realized only much later, clutching each other's arms as they ran. 

* * *

Autolycus and Iolaus clambered through the window of their room at the inn, laughing and breathless. 

"That was good," the King of Thieves declared, tripping over the windowsill and sprawling full-length on the floor. "Wasn't that good? That was great." 

"_We_ were great," Iolaus said, climbing up after him. "What do you know? We can work together after all." 

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I told you I'm the best, baby." 

"I hate to admit it," Iolaus said, dropping down on to the floor beside him, "but you're not half-bad." 

Autolycus raised his head indignantly. "Not half--" 

"But that bet's still on." 

"Any time, Curly, any time." Autolycus sat up and pulled their prize from his pockets. The ruby glinted enticingly in the late afternoon sunlight. "Meanwhile, I've got this beauty. How much do you think I could get for her?" 

"We could get," Iolaus said. 

"Huh?" 

"We. You and me. We worked together on this, remember?" 

Autolycus's smile faded. "Now just a minute. I could've done this without your help, you know." 

"Maybe so, but you didn't." 

"But--" 

"But what? I don't do this for fun, you know. Stealing's how I live." 

"Oh, and I've got a prosperous nine-to-five job running a silk shop, I suppose?" 

Iolaus crossed his arms stubbornly. 

"Okay, okay!" Autolycus held his hands up in what he hoped was a placating gesture. "Fine. We'll split it--" 

"Good." 

"--seventy-thirty." 

"Not good." 

He huffed, exasperated. "Oh, come on. I did all the real work!" 

Iolaus leaned forward until they were almost nose-to-nose and tapped him sharply on the forehead. Autolycus scowled but didn't back away. 

"Let's get one thing straight right now, Mister Oh-I'm-So-Good King of Thieves. I am not gonna be your sidekick. All right? In this or anything else. It's equal partners or nothing, and equal means fifty-fifty, got it?" 

"Yeah," Autolycus said, still glaring, "and nothing means I get it all. Are you delusional, Shorty? When did I ever say we'd be partners in anything?" 

"Don't start," Iolaus growled. 

"Hey, I'm not starting anything. You're the one starting stuff--" 

Iolaus lunged, grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the floor. Autolycus yelped and squirmed, trying to break free, but Iolaus held firm. They struggled in silence for a few minutes, until an instant of inopportune contact made them both freeze. 

Iolaus stared down at his captive, and Autolycus stared back, and for the briefest of moments an overwhelming heat passed between them. 

Then it was over, and before the King of Thieves could react, Iolaus had grabbed the ruby from his limp hand and scrambled off him, crouching under the window and tucking the gem into an inside pocket of his vest. 

"I'll keep this," he announced, sounding a lot less sure of himself than he probably meant to. 

Autolycus sat up slowly, trying to start breathing again. 

"Okay," he said finally, into the silence. "Okay. I'm not saying never again, all right? I mean, I'm not saying yes... but I'm not saying no yet, either." 

Iolaus just raised his eyebrows. 

"But, look, we have--" Autolycus swallowed, then sighed and started again. "We _have_ to wait until after. Okay? Just... that's my condition. After Tiro's safe." 

Iolaus scowled. "I don't see why." 

"Because--" He buried his face in his hands. "Oh, gods. Because if it's just the once, I can put it out of my mind if I have to. Pretend it didn't happen. But if we do it again... I won't be able to think about anything else." 

Autolycus very nearly smacked himself, hearing the words coming out of his mouth. For Zeus's sake, he thought, how moronic can you get? He sounded like a lo-- a lust-crazed teenager. 

But Iolaus just nodded. "All right. Fine. I respect that." He smirked, but it was halfhearted at best. "I always knew I had that effect on people." 

Then he stood and added, "But I'm taking a nap, and I'm taking the bed to do it in. Come join me if you want to join me." 

Autolycus sighed again. "No, no, the floor is... just fine." 

He laid back down on the floorboards, closing his eyes and trying to get comfortable. After a few minutes, he gave up and just lay still. 

Fuck, he thought savagely. Bloody fucking Tartarus, I _like_ the little bastard. 

Things were not going at all as he'd expected. He definitely didn't want to feel the need to place Iolaus's safety over his own, should the occasion happen to arise. 

The guy can take care of himself, he thought. Then the same voice added, Yeah, and look what happened the last time you thought that. 

He stretched and folded his arms behind his head. 

There were still a few hours left before they stormed the castle. Who knew? Maybe Iolaus would do something to really, majorly piss him off by then. 

Autolycus could only hope. 

* * *

They saw Agamede a third time before they headed for the Conqueror's castle. 

The Temple of Hermes was locked up tight, and Autolycus had to put his lockpicks to good use before they found their quarry. Iolaus was fairly sure that the locks at Hermes's temple were supposed to be pick-proof, but he let it pass. No sense in feeding the already-monstrous ego of the King of Thieves. 

Agamede was asleep on her father's bed, lying on top of the covers and wearing a sleeveless red shift that looked like a longer version of her regular shirt. She woke up as soon as the door to the bedroom swung open, sitting up and looking around blearily, pushing her short blond hair out of her face. When she saw them crouched in the doorway, her face relaxed into an almost affable scowl. 

Autolycus went to her and spoke in low, urgent tones, telling her of their plans. Her scowl didn't fade. 

Iolaus stayed in the doorway and watched. 

He studied Agamede's face-- her narrow, almost elfin features, her sleepy blue eyes and tangled blond hair. She seemed so young and so old at the same time. He studied Autolycus, who was doing his best to hide the feelings he so obviously had for this woman. Iolaus wondered, not for the first time, just what their relationship was. Ex-lovers, maybe? They certainly seemed to dislike each other enough, in between brief bouts of toleration. Or, at least, Agamede disliked Autolycus; he, in turn, seemed to feel a curious sense of responsibility, and not a little guilt. So had he broken her heart, or she his? Iolaus wondered how long they'd known each other. He wondered what, if anything, Autolycus still felt for her. 

He wondered why he cared. A few hours in bed was one thing, and a relationship was quite another, and after all, only one required emotional fidelity to maintain. 

He wondered when he'd gotten so good at reading Autolycus's face. 

It seemed like forever, but it was only a few minutes before Autolycus stood and returned to Iolaus's side. Agamede was already out of bed and hunting for her clothes. She would pack and be ready to leave as soon as they returned with Tiro; the old man would have to get as far away from the Conqueror as possible before the search began in earnest. 

Iolaus hoped that Tiro would be in a shape to travel. 

The two thieves left the temple, walking briskly towards the center square of Corinth and the castle. The plan was really quite simple-- Iolaus would go in through the ventilation shaft and distract Xena and the guards, and Autolycus would go through the tower and get Tiro out. 

It was risky, it was tentative, and it hinged on far too many eventualities. But it was all they could think of on short notice, and the only thing not certain to raise the Conqueror's suspicions. It was the best plan they had. 

And besides, improvisation was Iolaus's specialty. 

They split up as soon as they reached the castle grounds. The guards' shifts were about to change; it was the perfect time to slip past. 

Iolaus ran his hands self-consciously through his newly short hair, hoping his earlier burst of inspiration hadn't been too far off the mark. Hidden by the shadows of the castle wall, he pulled out a pair of knives and, digging them into the mortar between the stones, started to climb. 

* * *

Autolycus landed lightly on the roof of the east tower and let his grappling hook retract into its sheath. It had been child's play so far, just going through the motions, which was a good thing-- his mind was somewhere else. 

Not that far away, in fact. Maybe a few hundred feet. 

Iolaus was climbing through the castle walls on his way to a confrontation with the Conqueror. Sure, it had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now, under the cold scrutiny of reality and oncoming panic, the prospect was becoming more and more deadly. Being objective, he'd have to say that Iolaus had a fifty-fifty chance of getting out unscathed. In fact, that was a generous estimate. 

And Iolaus was no idiot. He had to know that as well. 

So why had he been so determined to be the distraction? Latent suicidal tendencies, or did Iolaus truly not care what happened to him? Autolycus didn't believe the former. He didn't want to believe the latter, either, but that possibility was a little harder to dismiss. He'd seen the emptiness in Iolaus's eyes. It wasn't always there, but when it was, it was a frightening thing. 

Maybe there really was a part of Iolaus that didn't want to come back. 

Autolycus shook his head as he lowered himself down the inside of the tower, trying to dispel the thought. It didn't work. 

He knew he should have been the one to go. It would have been poetic justice, and Autolycus was certainly poetic, if nothing else. At least, he could be when he wanted to. But he just hadn't been able to seriously make the suggestion. Newfound reluctant responsibility didn't stand a chance against a lifetime spent lookin out for numeral I. 

His feet hit the ground, and he yanked at the rope with perhaps slightly more force than was necessary. 

Fine, he thought. That's just fine. If Iolaus wants to kill himself for whatever reason, what do I care? I certainly won't feel guilty about it. 

Autolycus wondered why his thoughts sounded familiar, then realized with a start that Iolaus had said almost exactly the same thing to him the first night. 

He didn't want to think about what that meant. 

"What does it mean?" he grumbled, running his hands up and down the wall of the tower. "Quite simply, it means that you, Auto ol' buddy, need to stop fucking around with other thieves and get your mind back on the job." Luscious, Ravenica, Thoola, and now Iolaus... how many times did a guy need to get royally screwed by the Fates before he got the message? Autolycus suspected he was blowing the learning curve in a very bad way. 

Of course, an annoying little voice in his head piped up, nothing's gone wrong yet. 

_Yet_, Autolycus retorted silently. Just you wait. 

The voice shrugged and settled back to do just that. Even what little optimism he could muster was halfhearted. 

Thinking particularly dark thoughts, he slipped into the castle proper and stormed off toward the dungeon. 

* * *

The leather was old and cracked, stiff from disuse. It needed oil and care and constant wearing. It needed to be fought in again. 

Pulling it on again was just like coming home. 

She straightened the tops of her boots, trailed her hands up the skirt and leather bodice, and fastened her breastplate. She picked up her sword and twirled it a few times before slipping it into the sheath on her back. 

Then she reached for the circle of deadly metal and spun it once on her fingers, admiring how the candlelight flickered off the razor edges. She flipped it into the air and deftly caught it on the hook on her hip. 

For tonight, at least for now, the Conqueror was gone. 

The Warrior Princess was back. 

* * *

The hallway seemed deserted. Appearances, of course, could be deceiving, and Iolaus certainly hoped that was so in this case. Because he was about to let his presence be known, and it would be a shame if Xena and her guards weren't nearby to hear. 

Now or never. 

There was a large sculpture on a pedestal at the end of the hallway-- some sort of big cat, a tiger or maybe a lioness, carved from pale, glassy green jade. Iolaus wondered briefly what such a carving would be worth, then shrugged, inched towards it, and brushed it with his shoulder. 

The statue wobbled but remained firmly upright. 

Iolaus swore softly and bumped it harder. It rocked, but still refused to fall. 

All right, Iolaus thought, that's it. He stuck his sword back in its sheath, braced both hands against the heavy sculpture, and pushed. 

There was a moment of indecision, as though the statue weren't sure it wanted to fall; then it toppled over the edge of the pedestal and landed with a deafening crash, shattering the silence like a fragile piece of glass. It sounded like an explosion. 

Iolaus withdrew his sword again and turned and started to run, making sure one or two of his footsteps thudded audibly. 

It seemed like forever before he heard the familiar sound of shouting guards. He rounded the corner and ducked into an alcove, pressing up against the wall as two of the guards pounded past. 

Then he darted out again and started running in the opposite direction, still landing heavily on the marble floors. He was starting to wonder if he'd have to break something else when they heard him, turning around and running back the way they came. 

"I could do this all day," Iolaus said under his breath, skidding around another corner and lowering his head as he sprinted. More shouts behind him indicated that more guards were joining the chase. The party was in full swing. Hopefully he wouldn't have to keep running much longer. Hopefully, soon he'd have to start fighting for his life. 

Yeah, hopefully. 

Iolaus turned another corner and tightened his grip on his sword. Then another figure stepped out of one of the rooms that lined the hallway, closing the door behind, and he just barely managed to stop in time to avoid running into it. 

No, not it. Her. Most definitely her. 

The woman in front of him was tall, taller than most women he'd ever known and solidly built, projecting an aura of definite power. She wore a short leather fighting dress and copper-colored armor, and her long black hair fell over her shoulders and to her waist. Her eyes were the coldest pale blue. Her face was like stone. 

As Iolaus swallowed and took a step back, she smiled, the slow, smoky, dangerous smile of a natural predator. He shivered, suddenly understanding how Autolycus could still find her attractive. She exuded magnetism in waves. 

She reached behind her and drew her sword, twirling it in her hands before pointing the tip directly at Iolaus' throat. 

"Well, now," Xena purred, "didn't your mother ever tell you to send a messenger before you drop in?" 

* * *

Autolycus looked at one door. Then he looked at the other. 

One led to the stairs to the dungeon. One, presumably, didn't. 

He had no idea which was which. 

He felt like crying. 

Well, no, not crying. Not really. That would just be... wrong. Undignified. Embarassing in the extreme. But he certainly wasn't feeling very happy at the moment, either. 

Checking the map was out. That wasn't even an option. In the silence, the rustling of the parchment would sound like Ares's legions descending, to his paranoid ears at least. Even on the off chance that it wouldn't attract the guards, he wasn't sure his nerves could take it. 

Besides, he wasn't entirely convinced that he hadn't left the map back at the inn. 

Come on, Autolycus thought desperately, use that great capable brain of yours. Right or left, it's got to be one or the other. No memory was forthcoming, and the longer he stood there, the more certain he was that countless eyes were boring into his back, just waiting for him to make a move. 

Autolycus brushed the feeling off with some effort. He'd certainly never gotten anywhere in life by following the _right_ path. 

With this in mind, and hopling that symbolism worked as well in real life as it did on parchment, he turned to the door on the left, took a deep breath, quickly popped the lock, and opened it. 

Then he froze. 

It wasn't the stairs to the dungeon, that much was certain. It was a room-- small and dimly lit, more like a closet really, almost completely filled by the small, hard pallet in the corner. And lying on the pallet was a woman, a girl really, dressed in peasant's clothes, with her legs propped up at awkward angles. 

Autolycus's first thought was to thank Zeus that she wasn't dead. His second was to wonder what in Tartarus was going on. 

The girl slowly turned her face to him. She looked red and swollen and miserable, and at the same time resigned. 

Her eyes narrowed. When she spoke, her voice was flat and unemotional. "You." 

"Me," Autolycus agreed without thinking. He hesitated. "Uh... what are you...." 

"Doing here? Instead of being dead, you mean?" She looked down at her legs. "Being crippled, apparently. You know, call me crazy, but I don't think they want me to heal properly." 

"They?" he echoed dumbly. Get a grip, he ordered himself. So she's not dead. That's great. Now go make sure Tiro isn't either, and we'll be two for two-- 

"Well, she." The girl brushed long golden hair out of her face and shrugged, then winced. "It's all her, isn't it? Everything's because of her." 

Autolycus paused, imagining the fight going on several floors above. Iolaus should be pulling off his part of the plan. Time for him to do the same. 

"Look," he began, and paused again. It wasn't something he was used to saying. "I'm... I'm sorry, okay?" 

She looked down at her legs once more. "Yeah, I guess you could say it's partly your fault, too. But I don't suppose that bothers you." 

Autolycus bristled. "And why wouldn't it bother me?" 

"Well," she said, and looked blank. "You're not a freedom fighter or anything, are you? You're a thief." 

"A thief, sister, not a murderer." 

"Sure," the girl said, "but I'm not dead." 

He had to move. Now. 

"All right, look," he said again. "It does bother me. All right? But I really-- I really have to go now. So that some other innocent-- well, not guilty-- person doesn't get killed because of me." 

She sighed. "Figures." 

"What are you--" 

"No, no. Go ahead. Don't mind me, I'll live, I'm sure." 

Autolycus frowned. "You know, sarcasm doesn't become you." 

"I mean it," the girl said, with more than a touch of bitterness in her voice. "Go on, be a hero. See how great it makes you feel. I guarantee you, it'll be worth it." 

He hesitated. "You really believe that, don't you?" 

"I was being sarcastic." 

"Again? I told you, that's very unappealing." 

She sighed again, looking very old and tired. "What do you want from me?" 

"Want?" Autolycus thought for a moment. "I don't... want. I mean, you wouldn't happen to have any, any jewels or family gold or--" 

"No." 

"Then you don't have anything I want." 

She met his gaze squarely. Her eyes were like green rocks, hard and cold and unyielding. 

"So what are you still doing here?" 

Autolycus frowned. 

"That," he said acidly, "is a very good question. If you'll excuse me, I should really be somewhere that's not here." 

The girl let her head drop back on the pallet and closed her eyes. "Don't let the door hit you in the ass." 

He almost slammed the door before he remembered where he was. Instead he closed it as quietly as he could and relocked it, seething. 

Outside, he took a few deep breaths and picked the lock on the opposite door. The spiral stone steps on the other side dropped away steeply into darkness. 

Bracing himself, tracing the tips of his fingers along the cool, rough stone walls, Autolycus started his descent into the depths of the dungeon. 

* * *

Iolaus couldn't breathe. 

Xena smiled and stepped closer. The tip of her sword pressed into the soft skin of his throat, and he stepped back, fighting the urge to raise his own sword. 

"I was wondering when you'd show up," she was saying, in a low voice like a panther's growl. "Iolaus of Thebes. It's quite a pleasure." 

"You've heard of me," he said, managing to keep his voice even. 

"What can I say? I'm a fan." 

There was, Iolaus decided, something decidedly disturbing about her smile. Possibly the unholy glee evident in her eyes, warning any unlucky victim that she would thoroughly kick his ass and relish every second of it, because she knew she couldn't lose. It was the smile of a woman who'd skewer someone through the gut just to find out what kind of funny sounds they might make as they died. 

He was facing off against Xena-- the Warrior Princess, the Conqueror, the Destroyer of Nations. Suddenly distracting her didn't seem like the feasible plan it once had. What was he supposed to do, wave something shiny in front of her and hope she tried to kill him with it? 

Iolaus closed his eyes. Come on, he ordered himself, get a grip already. You can do this. You're good, and you know it. 

And, to his surprise, he found that he really believed it. Really believed that he was capable of taking on Xena the Conqueror and coming out of it, if not unscathed, then at least still breathing. 

Iolaus was a fighter. He enjoyed it, and he was good at it. He may have never been classically trained, like he would've been at the Academy, but he made up for it with experience, quick reflexes, and more dirty tricks than a bare-knuckle boxer with a dagger up his sleeve. He was a confrontationalist in the basest possible way. He didn't like to talk out his problems with others; he much preferred to get physical. One way or another. 

He could fight. He stood a chance. And he knew it. 

He dropped back suddenly into a crouch and raised his sword, halting it about an inch from Xena's blade, offering her the first move. As they started to circle each other, wary, each waiting for the other to attack, he felt a curious calm settle over him. 

Then she said, "It's been quite a while, hasn't it? If I didn't know better, I'd say you haven't changed a bit." 

Iolaus bit back a triumphant grin. It was working; she thought he was his double. Now all he had to do was pretend to be someone he knew nothing about. What exactly had the other Iolaus been doing for the past thirty-some years, anyway? And how long had he been there before he'd gotten his hands on the Chronos stone and disappeared into thin air? Just how long was "quite a while"? 

To cover his confusion, and because she seemed to be waiting for him to say something, he said quickly, "Yes, well, you certainly look different." 

Xena's eyes never wavered. "Ten years tend to do that to people. Except, apparently, to you." 

Ten years. Iolaus winced inwardly. Oops. 

What in Tartarus was going on? 

"You're not immortal," she continued. 

It was more of a statement than a question, but he felt obliged to answer anyway. "No." 

"No, you're not." Then, quicker than one of Zeus's lightning strikes, she lunged, bringing her blade to bear on the full length of his arm. Iolaus yelped and tried to block the blow, but she was just too fast-- he was less than a second off, but less than a second was enough. 

"Immortals don't bleed." 

He didn't feel the pain at first, dancing away from her with his sword at the ready, unsure for a moment whether he'd actually been cut. Then he felt the warm, wet stickiness spreading over his bare arm, and the pain hit, feeling like molten lead poured over his bones. Iolaus gritted his teeth together and focused on his opponent again, just in time; Xena swung again, and this time he just managed to block the blow. The vibrations of the force travelled down the entire length of his body and he met her eyes for the barest moment-- ice blue and filled with a kind of madness, her face frozen for an instant in a terrible rictus of a smile, like a death mask. And then the fight began in earnest. 

They were, Iolaus soon discovered, not on quite as equal ground as he'd hoped. For one thing, he was injured now, his left arm entirely useless; for another, she had armed guards lined up along the hallway, watching the fight with interest. Much too late, he realized that he and Autolycus could conceivably have brought in reinforcements and given themselves a fighting chance. He had no doubt that if by some chance he actually managed to win this fight, that interest would quickly turn homicidal. 

And was that what he wanted? Did he really have some kind of a death wish? 

No, he thought. No, I _like_ being alive. 

And for the first time, he knew he was telling himself the truth. 

So why had he gone ahead with the plan when he knew it was doomed to fail? Just to save some old man he didn't even really know? 

_'Cause that's what I do...._

His thoughts seemed almost to come from somewhere outside himself. Or inside himself. Or millions of leagues away, from another lifetime, another _him_.... 

...Another...? No, it couldn't be.... 

The idea distracted him. Just for a second, but a second was all she needed. Iolaus had the thought, his eyes flickered, and he seemed to watch out of the corner of his eye as Xena, moving too fast for him to even begin to react, slammed her sword into the one he held in his loose one-handed grip. 

The impact snapped his wrist back. His sword fell from nerveless fingers. He didn't know if his wrist was broken, but he was sure he'd find out when it stopped being numb. 

Iolaus was stepping back and raising his leg for a well-placed kick when Xena let out a loud, ululating cry, charged, and launched herself into the air. All of a sudden he was a half-step behind everything, and it was proving fatal. Her boots smashed into his chest and all his breath rushed out in a loud grunt; already off balance, he staggered backwards, lost his balance completely, and landed heavily on the hard marble floor. 

He was scrambling up almost immediately, moving up and back in one quick motion, trying to get out of her way; without thinking, he put his weight on his left arm, cried out, started to fall again, caught himself with his right hand, and then, as his wrist exploded in a flash of pain (and he was sure now that it was broken, he could feel the bones grinding together), he lost his tenuous balance once more and became reacquainted with the castle floor. 

"Oh," Iolaus heard himself groan, "oh, this is not good." 

He felt, rather than saw, a figure leaning over him, and then two hands twisted themselves in the shoulders of his vest and hauled him up off the floor, slamming him back against the stone wall. A cold, sharp length of steel pressed up against his throat. Iolaus blinked, doing his best to ignore the pain, and stared into Xena's snarling face with the curious calm given to those about to die. 

She leaned forward until their noses were almost touching and hissed, "How did you find out about my son?" 

He gaped. "Your son?" 

The blade pressed harder against his throat, pricking the skin. "Ten years ago," she said in a low, dangerous voice, "you spoke to me about my son. You put him in danger and now he's gone. Who told you about him? What did you do to him?" 

Iolaus cast his eyes desperately over her shoulder, toward the guards lined up against the opposite wall. One of them, a young-looking man with close-cut hair and a scar down one side of his face, grinned and winked at him. He rolled his eyes. 

"Well?" Xena demanded. 

It was times like these when Iolaus really wished he were taller. Somehow he was certain the situation wouldn't have been quite so intimidating if his feet could reach the ground. 

"Your son," he echoed, thinking furiously, trying to imagine the Conqueror barefoot and pregnant. Somehow the image failed to materialize. "Yeah. Nice boy, spitting image of his mother--" 

"What's his name?" she growled. 

Name? Fuck, his name. Iolaus wondered if Xena was the type to name her son after herself. It didn't seem likely. 

"Name," he said, aware that he was starting to sound like a demented parrot. "You know, I can't say I-- well, it's been ten years, you see, and I've got a really bad head for names, it's always been a problem for me, but if you give me a hint I'm sure it'll come back to me in no time and--" 

"Shut up." 

He snapped his mouth shut. 

She stepped back, and he slid down the wall until he was standing on his own two feet. He didn't move, though, possibly because the tip of her sword was still pressing into the soft hollow at the base of his throat. As he stood, frozen, she pushed it forward infinitesimally, and his heart nearly stopped as he felt the skin split, the swordpoint sliding fractionally into his flesh. 

Iolaus tried to back into the wall. It didn't work. 

Xena smiled. "Funny," she said, "I suppose everyone has a double. I had one myself. A simpering, clueless little excuse for a princess. She's dead now." 

Just another double, like Orestes? Could it really be so simple? He opened his mouth to speak, then winced and decided against it. 

She caught the intent and added, "Don't even try it, little man." 

Iolaus rolled his eyes again but remained silent-- and, consequently, alive. 

"There were two of you," the Conqueror continued. "I realized that before. The one dressed in purple is the one I met in Cirrah, and the one who stole the stone from my scepter is someone else. The question, of course, is which one are you...." 

Facts were coalescing rapidly behind her hard blue eyes, and Iolaus prayed to whoever might be listening that she wouldn't put it together. Then she smiled again, that slow, terrifying smile that made his stomach curl. "Son of a bacchae," she breathed. 

His prayers didn't seem to be working in the least. 

Without warning, she wrenched her sword out from the few precious millimeters it had sunk into his skin. His knees went weak and he sagged in relief, just as Xena spun around and raised her foot, delivering a solid roundhouse kick to the side of his head. 

Iolaus staggered sideways, and she started to follow it up with a left hook. He managed to block the punch, again forgetting his injuries, biting back a groan as her rock-solid fist slammed into the palm right above his broken wrist. White-hot pain coursed up his arm and through his body, blinding him for a few vital moments. He barely felt the one-two punch to his temple and his solar plexus; compared to the feel of his broken bones impacting against each other, everything else was secondary. His body certainly felt it, though, and he found himself falling, beginning the slow slide into unconsciousness. 

"You two," he dimly heard Xena say. "Take care of him. The rest of you, come with me." 

Sorry, Auto, Iolaus thought, and then the world grayed out completely. 

End Part 6 

_Feedback, feedback, rah rah rah! Why yes, I am deranged, why do you ask?_


	8. Chapter 7

"Half A Life" (7/11)  
by Maya Tawi 

_"Never pick a fight with someone bigger than you  
That's what I learned when I was at school  
And it doesn't really matter how clever you think you are  
Those years, they leave all kinds of scars"  
-Curve_

Three guards patrolled the row of cells in the dungeon. Rather than just lounging around and playing cards, like dungeon guards were supposed to do, they instead took turns walking the length of the hallway at regular intervals while the other two flanked the doorway. Oh, they were probably dozing behind their helmets-- all the strategy in the world couldn't circumvent the inherent laziness of prison guards-- but Autolycus wouldn't want to bet his life on it. And that was exactly what he'd be doing. 

He wasn't too worried, though. The enterprising thief's brother of legend had gotten down to the dungeons, and had managed to install a false wall near the far end-- ostensibly for those within trying to get out, but in practice it worked just as well the other way. It would be easy enough to get into the place without coming in contact with the two door guards; it was the lone wanderer that posed the potential threat. 

Autolycus scooped up a convenient wooden plank from the corner and hung back in the shadows, hefting his makeshift weapon and holding his breath. He'd only have one chance before his target had the opportunity to call for backup, and then instead of just one huge guy with arms and armor, he'd be dealing with three. 

Which he'd admittedly done before, and successfully, but it wasn't something he wanted to make a habit of. Besides, the objective was to _not_ attract attention. 

So he waited at the end of the hallway, and when the unlucky guard strolled down the row of cells and back, Autolycus stepped out of the shadows, put a finger to his lips, and then-- when the guard's massive brow started to furrow-- swung as hard as he could for the most exposed, vulnerable part of his victim's anatomy: the neck. 

The impact shook him all the way to his toes. The guard didn't fare much better; he sank slowly to his knees, mouth slack in a comical expression of shock. Then his eyes rolled up and, almost in slow motion, he passed out. His helmeted head hit the concrete with a loud thunk, bounced once, and then lay still. 

Autolycus let the plank clatter to the floor. "Batter up," he muttered. 

"Atticus!" one of the remaining guards called from the doorway. "Everything all right?" 

He swore softly. He didn't even know what the fallen guard's voice sounded like. Which made it a little hard to mimic it. 

"Atticus," the guard repeated. 

"Uh... I'm good!" Autolycus called back, speaking into his hands and hoping he sounded legitimately muffled. Then an idea occured to him, and he added, "Actually, I think one of you better come here and see this." 

"What is it?" 

"Just some... uh... thing. Uh, I only need one of you," he added hastily, bending down and scooping up the plank again. "Really." 

There was a brief discussion, and then one of the guards duly trod back, and was duly dispatched. The third followed, attracted by the noise, and went the way of his wayward colleagues. 

Autolycus dropped the plank again, scowling a little. He was spending way too much time bashing guards with sticks. Techniques like that just _screamed_ 'amateur'. 

"I think I got a splinter," he complained under his breath, examining his hand and then sucking briefly at the base of his thumb. 

He glanced around surreptitiously, then grabbed one of the guards' helmets and settled it on his head. The thing about prisoners, Autolycus had observed, was that they really did have no honor. Once they realized that an intruder wasn't supposed to be there and wasn't about to let _them_ out, they tended to grow cranky and call for the guards. Autolycus didn't plan on leaving with any extraneous companions that night. He wasn't conducting the Underground Chariot Path. 

As it turned out, he didn't need to worry. Most of the prisoners weren't in any shape to notice him; the ones that did seemed far beyond caring. Autolycus felt his stomach lurch at the sight. Xena the Conqueror certainly wasn't squeamish about torture. He imagined the same thing happening to Tiro, or to, gods forbid 

(Iolaus) 

himself, and he had to swallow hard to keep his fancy room-service dinner from forcing its way back up. 

Focus, he told himself. Forget all this. Focus on the endpoint-- you and Tiro and Iolaus, all safe and making your collective way the Hades out of here. 

Thus resolved, he forced himself to peer into every cell, to see whether or not the occupation was one gaunt, irritable, aged high priest of Hermes. When he finally found Tiro, in the cell directly across from the stairs, he felt his stomach start to turn itself inside out. 

He clapped a hand to his mouth and looked away, breathing through his nose, trying to regain his composure. Eventually he took his hand away and exhaled shakily, then turned back to the man he had, possibly, begun to think of as a friend. 

"Well. That looks unpleasant," he said finally, because he felt like he should be saying something, but the instant the words were out he winced at the sound of them. Dropping his casual air, he murmured, "Gods. Tiro. Just hold on." 

As he fumbled for his lockpicks and fiddled with the lock, he said in a low voice, "Come on, we'll get you out of there and get you fixed up. Ags's been throwing hissy fits for the past three days, wanting to come along-- I wouldn't let her, you'll be glad to know. Hey, she said you gave her your blessing, that's great-- I knew you'd come around...." 

He continued to talk softly as he worked, inconsequential things, painfully aware of how lame his words sounded but suspecting that the old man was beyond caring. It probably helped just to hear a familiar voice, and Autolycus couldn't imagine that it mattered what he actually said. He was no Sophocles, for Zeus's sake. 

The lock finally popped open in his hand, and some small, detached part of his mind chastised him for taking so long on such a simple job. The rest of him was still too shaken by the state Tiro was in to care. 

"Okay, we're outta here," he muttered, swinging the door open and edging into the cell. He stooped and gathered the priest's barely conscious body into his arms. Tiro was surprisingly heavy, and Autolycus was strangely reassured by this until the phrase "dead weight" flashed into his mind, and then he was just as anxious as before. "Let's hope Blondie can keep that distraction going long enough. What am I saying, the guy is a walking distraction. He sure distracts me, let me tell you. Look, just hang on a little bit more, if-- ah-- if you don't mind--" 

Autolycus had just reached the bottom of the staircase when Tiro jerked suddenly in his arms, then fell limp once more. Something warm started to flow down the front of his tunic. 

Time seemed to slow at that point. He didn't want to look down at the body in his arms, and he didn't want to look up to see what might be waiting for him, so he just stared at the steps in front of him while his mind struggled to assimilate what had happened and at the same time to prepare him for what he might see. 

It felt like an hour. It was less than two seconds before Autolycus forced himself to look down. 

What he saw made his knees go weak. 

Tiro was still lying like a broken, bloody rag doll in his arms; that much hadn't changed. What was new was the shaft of the crossbow bolt protruding from exactly where the priest's heart would be. Presumably, Autolycus thought, that bolt comes to a point, somewhere in that heart, and oh look, that must be him bleeding to death.... 

Then the reality of the situation sunk in, and he gave an involuntary yelp and dropped the body of the already-dead priest. Tiro's corpse bounced once, then lay still. 

Oddly enough, his first thought wasn't that Hermes was going to kill him for letting the god's most devoted priest get killed, but rather that he had just lost someone who, he realized with mingled bemusement and disgust, he had actually started to care about. Well, maybe care about. Maybe consider a-- no, not a father, he really didn't know the man all that well.... 

Agamede was going to be so disappointed.... 

Only then did Autolycus look up. 

The stairs were blocked by a phalanx of bodies, men and women both, all armed. The one who had shot the arrow was a female, slender and blond, with tight features and cool blue eyes. As he stared, she reloaded her crossbow and took aim again, directly at his own chest. 

Next to her, in front of everyone else, stood Xena the Conqueror. 

She stood above him with her head held high and her legs planted apart, decked out in a leather fighting dress and armor that was significantly more revealing than her pseudo-Chinese imperial robes. Her long dark hair was loose and streaming over her shoulders. Those intense blue eyes bored into his. 

Autolycus couldn't help himself; the attraction was magnetic, and his body responded accordingly. A moment later he realized what she was, and the sick feeling returned. But he couldn't break her hypnotic, penetrating gaze. 

Xena smiled. 

"Now isn't that a pity," she said. "I would have expected better from the King of Thieves." 

Autolycus's mind was reeling. She'd just murdered someone in his arms, and now she wanted to trade some witty repartee? 

"You haven't caught me yet," he managed to say, aware of how ridiculous he sounded but unable to think of anything better. 

Slowly Xena began to descend the stairs. 

He swallowed and stepped back. "Torturing an old man, eh? I'm disappointed, Xena, really. I would've thought you had more style than that." 

"The King of Thieves, a hero?" she countered. "Now something about that just doesn't fit." She smiled. "Call me crazy." 

"Gladly," Autolycus muttered. His eyes darted down the rows of cells to where the secret entrance would be. If he could just get away, get through that door-- 

And what? Be back on the stairs where the army was currently setting up camp? 

No, he thought, no, there's another way out, isn't there? The passage leads to the stairs, but there was another branch, wasn't there? I could've sworn-- 

Xena's smile didn't alter. "Glaphyra," she said. 

Autolycus spun around, poised to flee. 

The blond woman, Glaphyra, let another bolt fly. It slammed into Autolycus' right thigh, just below his hip, and he crumpled to the floor, gasping in pain. 

He blinked through the haze of red and watched helplessly as the Conqueror sauntered down the rest of the steps towards him. He tried to scramble away. A heavy boot came down hard on his hand, quelling that idea. 

Autolycus stared up at her, dazed. Pain and blood loss clouded and confused his mind, and for a moment the Conqueror, with her dark hair and granite face, looked like one of the serene goddesses of the East. But there was a strange light in those frozen eyes that was more suited to Kali-- hunger and lust and barely controlled rage, and just the barest hint of madness. 

She leaned over him, her hair falling down, over her shoulders. Long enough to reach past her waist, it now brushed over Autolycus's face and chest, surrounding him in a cage of black silk that smelled of dark fruits and exotic spices, blood and sweat. 

"I suppose we could have fought," she murmured, her lips brushing his ear. "I had a nice go of it with your friend upstairs. But somehow I sense you wouldn't be much of a challenge." 

Iolaus, he thought, a sharp, bitter stab of fear hitting him right in the throat. No, please, not that.... 

Oh, you've got it bad. 

Xena moved fast, unexpected, like a rattlesnake striking, and the last thing he remembered was the two fingers aimed for his throat. Then the world went black. 

* * *

Agamede buried her face in the pillow and ran down her list of wishes, so that if a genie happened to materialize in the middle of the room, she'd be ready. She wished her father was there. She wished that Sileia was there. She wished, rather grudgingly, that Autolycus and his short friend were... not there, but not in the castle, either. Safe, she decided, would do for them. In fact-- She scrapped her mental list and started over. She wished that she and Sileia were getting married, right that second, and that her father and Autolycus and... the other guy... were in the audience. And Sileia's family, if they were coming. And Sileia's Amazon friends. And.... 

And she _really_ wished her father's taste in pillows didn't run to the two-flat-sheets-glued-together sort. 

She sat up, frustrated, and hurled the offending pillow across the room. It was no use. She was wide awake. 

Agamede jumped out of bed, tugging her red shift down over her hips, and began to pace. No way she'd get back to sleep before Autolycus and-- Iolaus, that was it-- got back. No way. 

A sound from outside made her freeze. 

Agamede bent over slowly and grabbed her shirt from the floor, never taking her eyes off the door. She fumbled for the knife she kept tucked in the inside pocket, then straightened, pressed her back up against the wall beside the door, and held her breath, waiting. 

A soft, female voice from the other side of the door said, "'Mede?" 

Agamede didn't even stop to think. She dropped the knife, shoved the key into the lock, twisted it ineffectually for a few precious seconds, and then finally snapped it back and flung the door open. 

Sileia stood in the hallway, looking exactly the same as the day they'd parted ways-- her long dark hair falling past her shoulders, with a few stray braids framing her face, her exotic gray eyes and her solemn, full-lipped mouth. She wore a dark blue cotton tunic and a faded blue and green skirt, and she had tattoos up and down her arms and various holes pierced in her ears, like a goddess. 

She was the most beautiful thing Agamede had ever seen. 

"Leia," the priest's daughter breathed, and then she threw herself forward, laughing and crying and shaking all at the same time. 

Sileia barely managed to catch her. She staggered back under the weight, looking bewildered for a moment; then Agamede's lips found hers, and she closed her eyes, and for a short time everything was right with the world. 

Reluctantly Agamede broke the kiss. She leaned back and studied her fiancee's half-shadowed face. "You would not believe," she murmured, "how glad I am to see you." 

Sileia licked her lips. "I certainly appreciate the welcome, but is something wrong?" 

Agamede sighed, looking down at her bare feet. "Well. You could say that." 

"Is Tiro here? I expected to see him out front, waiting to beat me off with a broom." 

"Well... well, actually," Agamede began haltingly, "he... he gave us his blessing." 

Sileia's arched eyebrows shot up. "Really? That's great. So what's the matter?" 

She sighed again, suddenly uncomfortable. Her fingers found where Sileia's hands were resting on her hips and settled over them, squeezing. Somehow the action comforted her. 

"You didn't happen to pass anyone on the road, did you?" she asked. "'Cause I thought-- for a minute, I thought my wishes were actually coming true." 

"No," Sileia said. "Just me." She turned her hands so that she was clasping Agamede's in a warm, reassuring grip. She didn't ask again, but the question was in her eyes. 

"Look," Agamede said, "I know you don't particularly like the whole stealing aspect of the family business...." She trailed off, uncertain. 

"I don't like the idea of stealing for fun, no," Sileia said. "If it's to survive, and there's no other way, then that's different." 

"Like hunting." Agamede gave a faint half-smile. "Come on," she said, "let's go sit down. It's kind of a long story." 

She backed into the bedroom and Sileia followed, still holding tightly to her hands. They sat down on the bed, and then Agamede tucked her feet up under her, leaned her head against her fiancee's shoulder, and closed her eyes. Suddenly, with Sileia there, things didn't seem quite so hopeless anymore. 

Not opening her eyes, Agamede began, "See, there are these two guys my dad knows...." 

* * *

There were probably worse ways to wake up. But waking up with a throbbing headache, to two armed guards holding his arms in vise grips and dragging him backwards on his ass, was right up there on Iolaus's list of Top Ten Ways _Not_ to Spend the Weekend. 

He opened his eyes cautiously, not wanting to alert anyone to his newly conscious state. As it turned out, it didn't matter. No one was paying him the slightest bit of attention. 

"Corinth." 

"Corinth, of course. You know, when you think about it, that was a fairly small battle compared to the ones that came later, but it was the single greatest one of her pre-Conqueror career. Xena's army completely devastated them." 

Great, Iolaus thought, I've landed in the middle of the Conqueror Fan Club. 

"One of my personal favorites, now," the second voice continued, "that was Cynoscephalae. I was there, you know. My first battle as a soldier in her army, and that was really something." 

"Don't you come from Cynoscephalae, though? Didn't your mother live around there?" 

"And what use do I have for a mother? People are people, a village is a village, and one great patch of land is the same as any other. And that day we added thousands of leagues to Xena's empire." 

"Okay, but what if it was your father instead of your mother?" 

"My father died when I was eight." 

"That's beside the point." 

"I don't see how." 

Neither did Iolaus, but then that might have had a lot to do with having received various blows to the head. He wished they'd quit dragging him by the arms. His shoulders felt like they were popping out of their sockets. 

He wished they'd shut up about their Insights on the Modern Greek Soldier's Psyche already. 

"I'll tell you what, though," the second soldier continued, "you'd certainly do it." 

"What, kill your mother? I don't even know her. And anyway, she's already dead." 

"No, dimwit, kill _your_ mother." 

"Yeah, right." 

"You know I'm right. Face it, Palaemon, you'd cut your dick off if the legendary Xena asked you to. And you might as well have, anyway. When's the last time you got any, or are you still pining after the Warrior Princess?" 

"Fuck you, Darnelle, you don't even know. So I just--" 

"Dream about her every night?" 

"--_admire_ her, so what?" 

"So I'll tell you what. No woman is worth that kind of pain and sacrifice, not even one like Xena." 

"Well, it's nice she has such a loyal army. Too bad she doesn't know." 

"Listen, buddy, Xena knows me. She likes me. You may be just another army recruit, but she trained me personally. Me and her, we go way back." 

"Oh yeah? Willing to stake your life on it, are you?" 

Iolaus could practically hear the soldier's grin. "Well, she hadn't killed me yet." 

He reviewed the conversation, in case he'd learned anything he could turn to his advantage. Well, Palaemon had a crush on Xena, and Darnelle didn't like his mother, and.... 

Fuck strategy. It was time to fight. 

He quickly catalogued his functional body parts. His right hand was completely out of commission; the pain had subsided to a dull ache,but any more pressure on that break and he'd probably just faint on the spot. He could get in some elbow shots, though. His left arm was probably going to need stitches, but at least he could hit someone with it without passing out, and that was what counted at the moment. 

Odds of survival if I attack now, he thought, not good. Odds if I let them take me wherever we're headed, pretty much none. 

It wasn't a hard decision to make. 

"Don't pout," Darnelle was saying, presumably to a sulking Palaemon, since Iolaus certainly wasn't pouting, and anyway they still weren't paying any attention to him. "You're the one who keeps asking these stupid questions." 

"So maybe I'm just trying to figure you out." 

"There's nothing to figure, pal." It took Iolaus a moment to realize that it wasn't actually meant to be a nickname, it had just come out that way. "I'm a man-- just like you, unless you're holding out. What you see is what you get." 

Iolaus waited a few more moments, until they were caught up in another conversation; the subject turned to upcoming chariot races, or something of the sort. Then, when they were distracted, he tensed his muscles, kicked his legs up high over his head and, supported solely by the soldiers' grips on his arms, smashed his boots into what he hoped were the backs of his two escorts' heads. 

It wasn't a move he'd done more than once or twice, as the situation warranted, and as he did so now he remembered why. Every last muscle in his arms rebelled, and the cut-- slice, really-- down his left arm screamed in protest. As he flexed his wrists, the broken bones in his right arm brushed against each other, and the resulting wave of pain threatened to knock him out once more. 

It did, however, have the desired effect. The soldiers stumbled forward, losing their balance and dropping their grips on his arms-- and Iolaus dropped like a stone, landing heavily on his shoulders and the back of his head. 

Well, it had some desired effects, anyway. 

Iolaus laid on his back on the floor for a second or two, dazed. Then he jumped up, a little unsteadily, and shook his head to clear it. 

In front of him, Palaemon and Darnelle were climbing to their feet, weapons drawn, looking murderous. The younger one-- Palaemon, he guessed-- was the guy with the scar, the one who'd winked at him earlier. Iolaus grinned, perversely glad of the fact. 

"Not bad," said the older one, Darnelle. "That was a nice move. But now you have to get past two of us, both armed. Think you can?" 

"I think I'll give it a shot," Iolaus said. 

"Good. That's great. Good for you." Darnelle stepped back, twirling his sword. "Remember, you asked for it." 

Palaemon smirked, giving his own sword a quick spin. "Come and get it." 

Going into the fight, Iolaus had one real objective-- to disarm his opponents. Of course, ultimately he wanted to get out of the castle with his heart still beating, but in his line of work, he'd learned to focus on short term goals. 

They didn't wait for him to attack, instead circling around to either side of him and starting to slice. Caught off guard, Iolaus barely managed to duck in time; the two swords clanged together, and he rolled away. He jumped up and grabbed a long-handled torch from its mount on the wall, pivoting quickly and spinning it like a staff. His own sword was long gone, probably still lying in the hallway somewhere. 

Thus armed, he did his best to block the blows, meanwhile studying his opponents' fighting styles. Palaemon fought fast, furious, and skilled; even so, he was a little too sure of himself, and just shy of experienced enough to back up that confidence. It was all too apparent that Darnelle was carrying most of the weight. 

Darnelle, for that matter, was a more formidable opponent-- quick and experienced, with an uncanny ability to predict and block Iolaus's moves. But he was a flashy fighter, overly showy, like he was used to fighting for an audience, and that consciousness could be a vulnerability as well. 

Of course, none of that was any use with one broken wrist, one cut-open arm, and nothing more than a stick to defend himself with. Iolaus held his own for as long as he could, but it wasn't long before the combined assault drove him backwards, until he found himself pressed up against a wall. 

Or, more specifically, against a window grate. 

Iolaus leaned his head back against the metal grating and stared at Palaemon and Darnelle, wide-eyed. His apprehension wasn't entirely feigned; if he couldn't pull off his plan, if they caught on too soon, if he'd misjudged... well, then he'd be dead and such problems be rather moot. 

"Not bad," Darnelle said. He barely sounded winded. "Not bad at all. A pretty good show, all things considered." 

Iolaus's left hand snaked behind his back, removing a thin strip of metal from the waistband of his breeches and feeling for the lock on the window grate. 

"Unfortunately," Palaemon said, "we seem to have the upper hand here. Against all apparent odds." 

He found the small hole and slipped the pick in, wiggling it slightly, focusing all his concentration on the cool, slick, jagged guts of the lock. 

"So, seeing as how you've got about five seconds to live," Darnelle said, rather nastily, "are there any words you'd care to pass on to future generations?" 

_Click_. 

Iolaus smiled. Grinned, really. He tensed, feeling the sudden burst of adrenaline coursing through his body. 

"Sure," he said. "How 'bout, 'Bye'?" 

Then, before either of them could react, he shoved the window grate open and launched himself backwards into the open air, bringing his knees up as he started to fall. 

It was definitely a long shot. But the tree line visible through the window was higher than it had when he'd been fighting Xena, and that had been on the fourth floor. That could, conceivably, mean taller trees. Or it could mean that he was closer to the ground and therefore much more likely to survive a fall from this height. 

Either way, it was better than the alternative. 

And Iolaus had to find Autolycus. Assuming he was still alive to be found. 

End Part 7 

_You are to be giving us feedback now, yes?_


	9. Chapter 8

"Half A Life" (8/11)  
by Maya Tawi 

_"Crash and burn, all the stars explode tonight  
How'd you get so desperate, how'd you stay alive?  
Help me please burn the sorrow from your eyes  
Oh come on be alive again, don't lay down and die"  
-Hole_

When Autolycus woke up, he couldn't move. 

It was the first thing he tried, before he was even fully conscious, thinking for a moment that he was still in the dungeon-- had to get away, before Xena and her demented bow-woman caught him-- 

Then he remembered that he was already caught. 

Cautiously he opened his eyes, wary of the headache lurking behind his eye sockets, and took a brief survey of his surroundings. 

He was lying tilted at a more or less forty-five-degree angle, like those shapes Pythagorus was always going on about. Somehow, while he'd been unconscious, he'd been moved to the town square. It was still nighttime; various torches flickered around the square, illuminating it with an eerie, dancing red light that made people's faces look like grotesque theatre masks, something out of one of Euripides's bigger-budget productions. And there were a lot of faces within view. From behind the stone archway where he'd been positioned, hidden for the moment from the public eye, he saw that a crowd had already gathered, and more were still assembling. Their expressions, from this distance, looked like perfect, unreal parodies of tiredness, excitement, and fear. 

And while he could move his head from side to side, from the neck down Autolycus couldn't so much as twitch a muscle. 

"This is not good at all," he muttered, and his voice came out sounding hoarse and rusty from disuse. He craned his neck to try and see what he was leaning on. It was long and thin, made from a stiff and unyielding material-- like wood-- and had some sort of crossbeam behind his shoulders that his wrists were lashed to the end of. He had the sick suspicion that he knew exactly what it was, and he didn't like the idea one bit. 

"They're all here for you, you know." 

Autolycus froze, then very slowly turned his head to the left. Xena stood there, out of the battle dress and back in her empirical robes, but looking no less capable of kicking someone's ass. She leaned against the walls, her arms crossed; her hair, still unbound, rippled like an endless river of black. 

Looking at her, he felt his blood chill. 

"All here to watch you die," she continued. "Bloodthirsty bunch, wouldn't you say?" 

"Well, if it isn't Xena the Conqueror," Autolycus said, surprised at the evenness in his own voice. "Fancy meeting you here. I can't imagine the masses had any choice in attending this particular event." 

The Conqueror tut-tutted. "Oh, details like that don't matter here. This is what you want, isn't it? You crave attention, an audience, a reputation. Well--" She mock-bowed; her hair almost swept the floor. "Here you go." 

He swallowed hard. "Uh, gee, thanks. But listen, if you really wanna do me a favor--" 

Xena's eyes hardened. "I don't." 

"So you plan to kill me, then?" Still his voice was cool. "You'd be surprised how many have tried." 

She actually smiled at that. At least he thought the faint twitch of her lips was supposed to be a smile. "Really? Well, I've got you dead to rights here, my boy. I'd be interested in seeing how you escape this." 

"You never would've caught that rebel girl if it wasn't for me," he pointed out, getting desperate. "You owe me. So let me go and we'll call it even, whaddya say?" 

The Conquerer eyed him, and he swallowed again. His throat suddenly felt like the Sahara. 

"Funny," she said finally, "I don't remember hiring you." 

"You could, though. We could work this out. Just think, if you had the King of Thieves in your pocket, I'd be able to get you information no one else could--" 

"I already do." 

"Oh yeah?" he countered. "Just like you knew about the rebel girl, right?" 

Xena didn't answer for a moment, and Autolycus took the opportunity to try again to force his arms and legs to move, to no avail. It was as though his muscles were simply no longer connected to his brain. 

"Don't bother," Xena said, seeming to read his mind. "You won't be able to move a muscle until I want you to. But don't worry, you'll still feel... everything." 

His eyes narrowed. "Right, well, that certainly puts me at ease. In fact--" 

"You," Xena said, "talk entirely too much." 

"Aw, gee," Autolycus said. "Was I bothering you? I'm _so_ sorry." 

"On the contrary." She smiled faintly. "Perhaps I could use a man like you working for me. If only I didn't have to make an example of you." 

"Oh, you don't," Autolycus assured her. "Really, you don't." 

"I'm afraid I very much do." Xena actually looked regretful for a moment. Autolycus blinked, then decided it must have been a trick of the light. "You could have worked well for me. You're bold, skilled, clever, talented.... Even that miniscule spark of goodness in your heart could have been snuffed out with the proper attention. It really is too bad." 

She started to turn, then paused. 

"I do have to make an example of you," she said again. "But maybe it won't be entirely necessary to... kill you." 

"My thoughts exactly," Autolycus said fervently. 

Xena smiled again. 

"We'll put on a good show, you and I," she said. "Then, afterwards... we'll talk." 

She turned on her heel and started to walk away. 

"Wait!" Autolycus called. She stopped but didn't turn around. 

He licked his dry lips. He didn't want to ask, but he knew he had to. 

"Tiro...?" he ventured finally. He didn't have to say anything else. 

"Dead," the Conqueror said. From her tone of voice, he suspected she was still smiling. "But you knew that. And to think you could have prevented it by simply turning yourself in. He'd still be alive, after all, and nothing else would have changed." 

The truth of her words ripped at the conscience he didn't think he'd had. He gritted his teeth. 

"What about Iolaus?" he asked quietly. 

Xena grew very, very still. For a moment she just stood there, unmoving, not saying a word. Then, like a ghost or a god, she vanished into the darkness. 

* * *

Iolaus vaulted up the steps to the temple, barrelled across the open prayer room, kicked the double doors open, and burst into the inner chamber. 

"Autolycus!" he yelled. 

No answer. 

He slumped against the wall and swore, as loudly and as inventively as he could. Maybe it had been too much to hope for. But surely Autolycus had had enough time to find the old man and get out before Xena had caught on? If the bastard was half as good as he kept saying he was, anyway.... 

Maybe he'd gotten lost. Maybe he'd gotten caught on his way off the grounds. Maybe he'd gotten away and was on his way to the temple at that very moment. 

Iolaus doubted it. 

"Fuck," he said quietly. Then he pushed himself away from the wall and limped towards Agamede's private room in the back. Now that the burst of adrenaline was gone, he was feeling every new cut, bruise, and scrape, his sliced arm was burning, and his broken wrist throbbed. And if Autolycus hadn't made it, it was all for nothing. 

Iolaus stopped in front of the simple wooden door, raised his fist, and hesitated with a frown. Was that...? 

Then he shrugged and knocked. 

No one answered, and he knocked again. He was starting to panic, ready to kick this door open too, when the lock clicked and it swung open, and Agamede's sleepy, tousled, and very young blond head peered at him from the doorway. 

She blinked when she saw him and rubbed her eyes, and when she looked again she seemed distinctly more alert. 

"Iolaus," she said, sounding uncertain. 

He just nodded. 

Agamede's blue gaze sharpened and darted past him. "Where's my father?" After a moment, she added, "Where's Autolycus?" 

Iolaus sighed. "Agamede, we need to talk. Can I come in?" 

Panic filled her eyes. "What happened to my father?" she demanded, her voice rising. 

"Agamede-- Agamede, I don't know! Just listen, would you--" Automatically, he put his hands on her shoulders; she shrugged him off angrily, and as the bones in his wrist jarred together, he couldn't bite back a groan. 

Agamede's expression changed. "Oh gods, you're hurt-- I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I didn't mean to-- Leia, come help!" 

For a confused moment, Iolaus thought maybe she was praying to some obscure medical deity he'd never heard of. Then the door opened wider and another woman stepped up beside her. 

This one was taller, with long dark hair and clear gray eyes; as Iolaus stared, dumbfounded, she swept him up and down with a clinical gaze and said, "Bring him in." 

She was, he couldn't help noticing, wearing a man's dressing robe... and not much else. 

The woman led him into the room and sat him down on the bed, and finally Iolaus couldn't take it anymore. "Who are you?" he blurted out. 

She just raised her eyebrows. 

"This is Sileia," Agamede said, with an unmistakeable note of pride in her voice, despite the worry. "My fiancee." 

"Oh." Iolaus blinked at her. Autolycus's ex-girlfriend, indeed. He felt obscurely relieved by the news; then he reminded himself that, Agamede or no Agamede, Autolycus would be just as dead if they didn't do something soon. 

Sileia started running her hands over his body, and he said irritably, "Look, we don't have time for a medical exam here, all right? It's just my wrist--" 

"And your other arm, and your ribs, and your ankle," Sileia interrupted, without looking up at him. 

Agamede gave a low whistle. "Wow. Did you get the plates of that chariot?" 

Iolaus sighed. "Okay, but listen, I really don't have the time. If you could just set the wrist so I can use it, that'd be great, and I promise to get the rest taken care of later, all right?" 

"What happened?" Agamede demanded. "How'd you get hurt like this? I thought you said you two had a plan!" 

He hesitated. "Well, yes, but she-- they were waiting, she'd been expecting us. I mean, we'd counted on that. I was supposed to distract her, only she caught on a lot quicker than we'd planned on. I don't know what happened to your father," he added quickly, as Agamede opened her mouth again, "but if Autolycus didn't come back here then they didn't make it out, and I need to go back." 

Sileia and Agamede exchanged an eloquent look, and then Agamede said, "You're in no shape to go anywhere. Autolycus got himself into this. You stay here, and Leia and I'll go back to get Dad." 

Iolaus scowled up at her and opened his mouth to make an angry retort, but then Sileia twisted his arm one way and his hand the other, and the retort became a scream as his bones snapped back into their proper place. 

Sileia glanced up at him, raising her eyebrows again. 

After a moment, Iolaus caught his breath. "He's my partner," he said shortly. "I have to go back. And besides, Hermes'd kill me." 

She started to silently splint his wrist. One corner of her mouth twitched. 

Iolaus glanced at Agamede. "Quite a prize you've got here." 

"Oh, shut up," Agamede snapped. "You know I'm right. You still can't use your right hand, and you need stitches for that cut, and Leia's here now, so you can't use that as an excuse." 

Sileia let his wrist go with a flourish, then unabashedly dropped the robe to the floor and started to pull on her clothes. 

"Well, how about this?" Iolaus jumped up and started to pace. "I finish what I start, one way or another. So I'm not just gonna stuck my feet up here and lie back while you two take over--" 

"Why not?" Agamede cut in furiously. "'Cause we're women? Is that why? Is that--" 

"Would you get over that already? It has nothing to do with this! I just--" 

"Then give me one good reason why we shouldn't--" 

"Hang on!" Iolaus held his hand up and darted out the door; after a moment, Agamede and Sileia followed. 

He stopped just behind the ruined doors to the outside, listening. Agamede groaned when she saw the destruction. "You did this? Dad's gonna kill me--" 

"Shh," he said, concentrating on the sounds coming from the path. Sileia was listening too, and the two exchanged grim looks. After a moment, Agamede's eyes widened. 

Iolaus watched the path from the shadows of the temple; as soon as the palace guards and the gathered peasants they were herding disappeared from sight, he pushed through the doors, leaped down the stairs, and started to run. This time the two women didn't hesitate before following after. The guards' pronouncement still rang in all their ears. 

_You're all to witness the crucifixion of the King of Thieves-- now hurry up or you'll miss the good part...._

* * *

A soldier stepped up in front of the crowd. He wore his full battle armor like a second skin. 

"Behold!" he boomed; his voice was deep and strong, somehow huge in the expansive square. Autolycus imagined that he'd been chosen for his role for that voice alone. 

Scattered whispers quieted and eventually grew silent. 

"Your sovereign, Xena the Conqueror!" 

The procession started again, not too different from the one-- was it just two days ago when he had last stood in this square, about to face prosecution? Of course, he wasn't exactly standing now. 

He thought about Xena's earlier promise. To not kill him right away, and instead to negotiate. At least he assumed she wanted to negotiate. Somehow, wondering what exactly she had planned was worse than knowing and expecting death. 

Then again.... 

Maybe they'd break his legs, like the rebel girl's. He thought about her current state and winced; of course, if Xena expected him to do any work for him, she'd have to set his legs properly afterwards. It was a small consolation that didn't take away from the terror of the prospective pain. 

Not that he expected to work for the Conqueror for very long. But as long as he was relatively able-bodied and able to stand on his own two legs, the rest would be easy. Siberia was supposed to be nice this time of year.... 

But Tiro was still dead. And he was still a murderer, no matter if Xena's pet bow-girl had been the one to actually fire the shot. 

At least Iolaus had gotten away. 

Autolycus returned his attention to the proceedings. Xena was descending the steps slowly, her hair once again pulled back behind her head. She stopped at the bottom and stood regally, her pale eyes flashing. Here in the flickering firelight, she looked less like an iron-fisted despot and more like some primitive death goddess. 

"Bring out the prisoner!" the soldier called. 

It was almost an exact replay of the last such event, the crucifixion of the rebel girl, except he was already on the cross. Autolycus thought of the girl, not so much older than Agamede, a rebel leader of all things, sitting in a cramped room with two broken legs; he thought of Agamede, already engaged to be married, so eager to rush in and die for the chance to save her father's life; and he wondered, for the first time, just how it had all happened. How one person had so ruthlessly snatched so much power, and how everyone else had just let her do it. 

He wondered if he was beginning to care. 

Couldn't be. That way lay madness and an unnaturally short lifespan. 

The soldiers hefted the cross in the air and carried him out into the middle of the square. Autolycus found himself following the proceedings with an almost detached air, as though he were in the audience again, and not the one on the cross this time. The crowd was still silent. They didn't know what was coming either, but they had a fairly good idea. 

He wished they'd just get it over with already, so he could get on with planning his daring escape. 

And then he'd come back, in a few years when everything had died down and the King of Thieves had appeared to move on to bigger, better, less painful things-- and he'd rob the Conqueror's damned treasury bare. Revenge for Tiro, because if he'd murdered the guy he might as well make it up to him in some way. Tiro would definitely approve. And Iolaus-- 

Why was he thinking about Iolaus? He wasn't going to go after Iolaus. The last thing Autolycus needed was someone else around to die for him. 

Besides, the King of Thieves worked alone. 

The soldiers carrying him came to an abrupt halt, and Autolycus snapped out of his thoughts and back to reality. A moment later he wished he hadn't. Xena was looking down at him, a faint smile on her lips. Her expression was smug and pitying, repellent and bizarrely comforting at the same time. Autolycus tried one last time to move, in vain. It was as though his body wasn't even his. Like Orpheus, doomed to live forever as just a severed head.... 

He did manage to resist the urge to spit in her face. 

When she spoke, her voice was low, yet still seemed to carry across the square, the whole of the empire even. "Autolycus. King of Thieves, hero of the people, caught and chained like an animal." Her fingers dropped lightly to his shoulder, trailing up his throat to his face and cupping his chin, a touch so intimate it almost burned. He flinched. "Where are your fans now?" 

"Where are yours?" Autolycus countered. "All I see are terrified subjects. You think these people wouldn't overthrow you in a second if they thought they had a chance?" 

Xena's smile didn't alter, but her eyes turned even colder. "I don't need fans," she said quietly. "I have my army." 

Then she raised her voice and turned back to the crowd. "But you! You're quite the arrogant one, aren't you?" She leaned in close. "I'll say this for you, thief, you are brave. But that won't do you any good. What you need now is a miracle." 

Autolycus sincerely hoped this was part of the show. 

"You call yourself the King of Thieves, yet all you are is a petty burglar--" 

That was too much. "Hey, now, there's nothing petty about--" 

"You came to my castle to-- what?" she continued, as though he hadn't spoken. "To steal from my treasury." She smirked. "How pathetic. And not even to give the riches to these people you seem to know so well, but to keep them for yourself. You have the skills to do the impossible-- to get past my castle defenses-- and what do you use them for? Your own personal gain. 

"Folk hero?" She tilted her head thoughtfully. "No, I just don't see it." 

Autolycus opened his mouth to deny it, then shut it again. There was no point in lying now. A low buzz went up around the square at his silence. Autolycus tried to ignore it; he'd never aspired to be the people's hero, after all, although admittedly he had enjoyed it, in an abstract kind of way. He was the King of Thieves, and everything else was incidental. 

"You're not even worthy of a public execution," Xena spat, her eyes gleaming with a faint, unnatural light. "But I think the _people_ deserve to witness the destruction of an icon, don't you?" 

Autolycus smirked up at her. "What can I say?" he drawled. "It's who I am." Please let's get on with this, he thought, please please, my nerves can't take much more of this. 

"No," Xena said. "It's not." For a moment, her smile grew wide and brilliant, glittering with hard-edged anger and barely controlled fury and vicious victory; then, abruptly, it was gone, and her face was as still as a stone idol's. "It's who you were." 

Before Autolycus could fully grasp the implications of the words, another soldier stepped in between them, raising a heavy hammer above her head. No, not a soldier-- the bow-woman, Glaphyra. Her features were just as harsh as before, but something new glowed in her eyes as she looked down at the bound thief-- blind, indiscriminate hatred. 

And she doesn't even know me, he thought weakly. 

Then, with horror and sudden understanding, he realized the hammer wasn't aimed at his legs. 

Intrinsic to Autolycus's character was his deep-seated, unshakable, necessary faith in himself, faith that whatever mess he got himself into, he would eventually manage to get himself out of it. It was a philosophy that had served him well all of his life and, he had thought, would continue to serve him until whatever time that life happened to end; he was smart and cunning and he had skilled hands, and no prison could hold him for long. Even the Conqueror's dungeon had yet to hold him for long. He was, after all, the King of Thieves. 

And it was over those skilled hands that Glaphyra now poised the heavy hammer. 

She seemed to lower it in slow motion, and for a few moments Autolycus could only watch, stunned by the enormity of what was about to happen. In less than two seconds his life would be as good as over. 

It seemed like an eternity passed; it was only about a second before the panic hit, and he struggled frantically to at least move his hand out of the way, but the deadened muscles still wouldn't respond; he thought he felt a finger twitch, but it was too little, too slow.... 

He heard the hoarse cry before he realized that it was his own. "Wait! Don't--" 

A small gesture from Xena, and Glaphyra, with admirable reflexes, ended the downward swing less than two inches above her intended target. As she stepped aside, she scowled down at Autolycus with an expression that promised she would finish the job soon, and enjoy it. 

He ignored the look, too awash in relief at the temporary respite. His eyes stayed firmly fixed on Xena as she stepped forward, and he cleared his throat. "I'd, uh, I'd like to negotiate now." 

The Conqueror moved in close again, bending over so that her lips brushed his left ear. "We don't have to do this," she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. "I meant what I said. I could find good use for a man like you. We can skip the hands...." 

She paused, and Autolycus felt his breath coming faster. 

"If you'll tell me just one thing." 

Autolycus swallowed hard and licked his lips. "What's that?" 

"In fact, if you tell me this, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll have just your legs broken and leave you out for the night, and then in the morning I'll bring you in and have my healer set them. He's the best there is. You'll get the best room I have, and you'll be treated like a royal guest until you're healed. As befits a king," she added with a small smile. "Then you'll be free to go." 

He didn't say anything. 

"I can't possibly be more fair than that," Xena murmured. "Think about that, and think about what could happen." 

Glaphyra was watching, her face dark. 

"What do you want to know?" Autolycus repeated, as softly as he could. 

She trailed her fingers lightly over his forehead. 

"Tell me where Iolaus is," she whispered. 

When he didn't respond, she added, "The two of you must have agreed to meet somewhere afterwards. Tell me where he would have gone." 

"What are you gonna do with him?" he asked, dreading the answer. 

Xena raised an eyebrow. 

"Kill him," she said matter-of-factly. "Whichever one he is, whatever he may know, at best he knows a way into my castle. He's still a threat to me. I cannot let him live." 

"Well," Autolycus managed, "you certainly are... blunt." 

"I don't lie," Xena said. "And I don't go back on my word. Think about it, and think quickly; Glaphyra's itching to see some blood, in case you haven't noticed." 

She correctly interpreted his hesitation. "You already let one person die to save yourself, and it didn't even work. I'm giving you my word here. You _will_ profit from this." 

Autolycus found his voice. "I can get into the castle too," he said. "I've done it twice, a different way each time. Shouldn't you kill me too? Not that that's an invitation," he added hastily. 

Xena smiled. "I have the feeling we can come to an... arrangement," she said silkily. "You look like a reasonable man. I'm willing to make a deal." 

"Like me working for you." 

"Only if you want. Like I said, you'll be free to go." 

Well, he didn't really have a choice, did he? Without his hands, he couldn't steal, couldn't pick locks, couldn't do... other things. Even if he managed to get away from the Conqueror, he'd be easy pickings for anyone who held a grudge against him-- and there were so many of those, he'd lost count. 

Forget about being able to escape. There wouldn't even be a reason to. If Autolycus couldn't steal-- and he knew with a sickeningly grim certainty that this was the cold, simple truth-- he'd rather be dead. 

Autolycus opened his mouth to tell her, to give everything up, tell her where Iolaus was supposed to be waiting and save himself, because after all that was what he did. Look out for numeral I. Take care of himself, and Tartarus take everyone else; they could look after themselves. 

But nothing came out. 

And as he pictured Iolaus's face and his crazy blond hair and that cheerful, irreverent grin, or even that scowl he got when he was really pissed off at something-- someone-- and the shadows in his blue eyes, and as Autolycus remembered that slick, muscular body leaning over his, with those eyes clear and shining and all the shadows finally gone, he felt his stomach sink into his boots. Because he knew that, newfound morality and responsibility notwithstanding because as far as he was concerned they could all go to Tartarus as well, he couldn't do that to his partner. Friend? Lover.... 

Whatever. He just couldn't. Wouldn't. Not ever. 

I knew I shouldn't have slept with him, he thought dismally. I _knew_ this would happen. 

So he just closed his mouth and looked at Xena, his face hard and expressionless, betraying nothing. 

And she understood. It was frightening-- she was almost like a mind reader, the way she could predict people's responses, the way she understood things that were never said. She hadn't expected him to tell her, he realized, and somehow that made it even worse than before. 

The Conqueror stepped away without a word. Glaphyra came forward, and this time Autolycus closed his eyes so he didn't have to see her satisfaction at a job well done. 

For the first time in his life, the King of Thieves was caught like a rat in a trap, with no way out. 

Even without looking, he could feel it when the soldier raised her arms with one quick motion, hovering at the top of her upswing before she brought the hammer down-- 

He was screaming before he even felt it, an automated bodily response, and for one dizzy, confused moment he couldn't think why. Then the pain hit, Greek fire shooting from the center of his left hand down to the tips of his fingers, up his arm to his shoulder, so intense for a moment that he almost fainted, before his smashed hand went blessedly numb. 

And then the scream stopped as abruptly as it had begun, as his mind decided that numb sounded pretty good and immediately followed suit. 

His right hand exploded and he yelled again, but it was pure physical reaction; icy cold was seeping from the pit of his stomach into the rest of his body, creating what felt like a thin glass wall between him and the rest of the world. 

_Thamyris couldn't forget Hyacinthus... stripped of his craft and hung out to dry...._

The subsequent breaking of his legs seemed anticlimactic, routine even. He barely noticed. It didn't matter. Not anymore. 

Neither did he see the three frantic figures running towards the square-- two women, one in a simple red sleeping shift and one in a lightweight cotton fighting dress, and a man in a purple patchwork vest-- pushing to the front of the silent crowd and then freezing, stunned by the spectacle, expressions of shock turning, variously, to helplessness, frustration, and fury. 

And when they lifted the cross from the ground and carried him off, he was just another broken human being, one more crushed beneath the weight of the Conqueror's rule. 

End Part 8 

_Love it, hate it, utterly indifferent? Let me know._


	10. Chapter 9

"Half A Life" (9/11)  
by Maya Tawi 

_"One more day  
I'm always taking the dive  
All it takes is all I can give  
All my waking hours  
Just to see you live  
Through this sleepless night"  
-Jump Little Children_

Unlike most of the other major gods, Hermes didn't really have a central headquarters. Ares had his Halls of War, Aphrodite her International Palace of Love, but Hermes had never quite gotten around to building a House of Thieves, Travellers, and Various Messages. Having a stationary HQ seemed somehow antithetical to his very being. Some gods, he thought, were above such things. 

Granted, he'd considered setting up a post office a few times. But that was purely to make his divine life easier, and anyway he'd never really had the time. 

Even so, he did have a place to go, when he needed to get away from the other gods and especially from mortals. Not that he didn't enjoy the little people and their tiny, insignificant troubles, but every so often enough was simply enough. 

Pryeste was a village that had been abandoned hundreds of years previous. Its inhabitants had been unremarkable in every possible way; however, in an unprecedented burst of inspiration, they had showed the good taste to build a temple to Hermes in their town square, and it was to this temple that the god retreated when he wanted to leave the rest of his petty, squabbling, incestuous family behind. None of the other gods ever gave Pryeste a passing thought-- its people had been too peaceful for Ares to remember, too dumb for Athena to have bothered with, too ugly for Zeus to concentrate his attentions on and far too patriarchial for Athena to ever show her attractive face and shapely bod-- so it was also a good place to sit and plot certain schemes in private, away from prying eyes and certain overgrown, violent psychotics with delusions of grandeur. 

So Hermes sat in the deserted temple and silently called to someone. A moment later, a tall, slender figure materialized from thin air. 

The newcomer crossed his arms and scowled. "Whaddya want?" 

Hermes frowned back. "Are you busy?" 

"Nah, just takin' a break after a long, long, long day of very _strenuous_ activity-- what do you think? I haven't been doing nothing big for months. Ya know, I don't think the boss trusts me that much. I started a riot today, that was fun. I mean, everyone _says_ they care 'bout their livestock 'till it comes to keeping the cute little critters safe or making a statement no one'll forget. After that-- I think ya know where I'm goin' here." 

"Lovely." Hermes wrinkled his nose. "Listen, I need you to do something for me. I'd do it myself, but I'm on a schedule here, and I'm not sure I could get it to work right." 

Bright, pale blue eyes widened. The newcomer reached up and placed one hand dramatically over his mouth. "Ooh, a favor? Sounds... _so_ not my style. Forget it." 

"It'll benefit you in the long run," Hermes promised, striving to stay pleasant and to resist the urge to smack the brat into submission. 

"Oh, really." The other god ran one hand through his tangled black hair, clearly unconvinced. 

"Of course," Hermes added, "you can't tell anyone. Not even your uncle." 

"Oh, really?" The god giggled, and his pale eyes brightened again, possibly at the prospect of being privy to a secret his all-powerful uncle didn't know. 

Hermes smiled. "Definitely." 

The other god hesitated. "Okay," he said. "Fine. But you'll owe me, man." 

"Yes, Strife," Hermes purred, "I most certainly will." 

* * *

Three figures sat desolately on one hard, narrow bed. 

"I don't know what to do," Iolaus said finally. "I really don't." 

"We can go get him, right? They're not taking him down yet. We can just go up and...." 

Agamede trailed off, staring at her hands. "No, we can't, can we? They've got enough guards up there for a bagball world tournament. And a cheerleading squad for each team." 

Sileia silently put an arm around her, and she leaned her messy blond head against her fiancee's shoulder with a sigh. "I feel so fucking helpless." Then Agamede's expression turned wistful. "Of course, if my dad heard that he'd be bawling me out for 'improper language'. Then he'd turn right around and swear himself a blue streak." 

She sighed again. "He's not okay, is he?" 

"I think," Sileia said carefully, "that probably not." 

She stroked Agamede's hair gently. Agamede sniffled once, then turned and wiped her eyes on Sileia's cotton shirt. 

Iolaus watched them through narrowed eyes. "Touching as all this is," he said, "it really isn't helping Autolycus." 

Sileia turned and glared at him, and if looks could kill, he would be scattered in little bloody chunks over the floor. Iolaus glared back, meeting her scowl for scowl. 

"No, no, you're right," Agamede said shakily, oblivious to the exchange. She sat up, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "We have to-- we can do something about him. Him, we can help." 

Iolaus transferred his scowl to her. "Really? I didn't think you care about him. I thought you only cared as long as he was gonna rescue your father, which he's clearly beyond doing now, so why would you even bother?" 

"What-- what are you talking about?" She stared at him, looking bewildered. 

Behind her, Sileia was glaring daggers at him. 

"You know very well what," he snapped, ignoring Sileia's look. "Throughout this whole thing you never really gave a damn that he was risking his life just to save _your_ dad-- you've insulted him, given him ultimatums, and threatened him when he was just trying to protect you, and he still went and did it, or tried to, and-- and now he's hanging up there on that cross with his fucking hands and legs smashed to bits, and admit it-- you don't even care!" 

Sileia stood abruptly. "All right, that's enough--" 

"Oh, for the gods' sakes!" Iolaus exploded, jumping to his feet and glowering up at her angry face. "Let the girl stand up for herself for once, would you?" 

"Okay, I will," Agamede cut in, and then she, too, was standing. "Shut the Hades up! You don't know a damned thing about me or Autolycus! And I'll tell you one thing for free, if you think he would've gone after Dad if Hermes hadn't made him, then you are sadly deluded! Wake up, Iolaus-- you can't see what isn't there, and as much as you obviously want to see a hero in that man, the gods know why, there. Is. Nothing. There." 

"You're wrong. You're _so_ wrong that--" 

"Oh, shut up already. You know what else? That's all really fucking irrelevant, because I do care what happens to him. Despite all that, I actually like him. Okay? But let's get one thing out in the open here-- I loved my father a lot more than I like Autolycus. And my father, in case you haven't noticed, is most likely tortured and _dead_ now, so excuse me if I take a fucking moment to grieve for him!" 

Iolaus narrowed his eyes again and stepped up to her. Their eyes were dead level with each other's, and his bored unflinchingly into hers. "He was always expendable to you, wasn't he? Oh, you're sorry for him now, and of course you want to help, but if he dies you're not gonna lose any sleep over it. Because you don't _love_ him, so he doesn't really matter, now does he?" 

"I offered to help," Agamede shot back. "I wanted to help. He wouldn't let me!" 

"Of course you did. You're young, and that's the kind of thing young people do. Maybe you even meant it. Maybe you still do. But that doesn't change the fact that Autolycus just got crucified and you're not even thinking about what that means--" 

"He got my dad into this--" 

"Oh, and he hadn't paid enough?" Distantly, Iolaus wondered where all his rage was coming from, but he didn't think about it for long; it was just there, and it was pouring out now, as though the floodgates had suddenly burst. He began to pace back and forth. "Here's how things are, Agamede, and I know you don't want to hear this, but you have to, so get over it and listen to me. 

"Your father was a High Priest of Hermes, and he took it upon himself to hide certain thieves who needed hiding. He knew what could happen. Stealing is a crime. People like me and Autolycus, we do it for a living, but it's still a crime, and we do it with the full knowledge that if we end up dead because of it, we'll have brought it on ourselves. 

"Same with your father. Tiro knew when he started that one day some ruler or other would be so pissed off they wouldn't care about they sanctity of the temple, and they'd haul his priestly ass off for questioning, which is a nice way of saying torture, and he kept doing it anyway. I don't know why; I only knew the guy for a week. Maybe he really believed in what he did. That's not-- that's not even the point--" 

Iolaus broke off abruptly and whirled around to face Agamede once more. "Do you even realize what Autolycus just lost? Do you know what a thief is without his hands? Nothing, that's what. He is _nothing_. And that all happened because Autolycus was trying to do the first good thing he's done in his life! So don't you fucking dare stand here in front of me and say he deserves what he got, because--" 

Agamede shook her head in frustration. "You're not listening! I didn't want for any of this to happen! I just wanted--" 

"What? What did you want?" 

"I just wanted for everyone to be okay!" 

Iolaus rolled his eyes. "Would _you_ wake up, please? Nothing's okay anymore, not with that psycho in charge. She's running things now, and we're living in a guard state. And you cannot blame Autolycus for getting Tiro involved in this, because your father knew all that, and he knew what would happen, and he didn't want you getting involved. You tried, and he wouldn't let you, so you prayed to his god to look after him...." 

He trailed off, staring open-mouthed into the dark corners of the room. Comprehension was beginning to dawn, and he didn't like it one bit. 

He was vaguely aware of Agamede folding his arms across her chest and her defiant voice saying, "What's wrong, did you run out of accusations?" He ignored her. The pieces were falling into place. 

"You prayed to his god," Iolaus repeated slowly, in a quieter, more controlled tone. "And that's where the problem is, isn't it? Because that should have ended it. Because Hermes _should_ have popped in, said, 'Hey, unhand my priest,' and taken off, case closed. Because the priesthood is sacred. A high priest is like a god's property. And you don't take the property of a god." He spun around to face Sileia, then turned back to Agamede, his eyes wild. "D'you see where I'm going with this?" 

"Not really," Agamede said. 

"What I'm saying is it _didn't_ happen that way, and that's because of the Conqueror, and because of the gods. Xena's got Ares behind her, hasn't she? And you're just too chicken to challenge him, aren't you?" 

Agamede looked bewildered by this sudden change in targets. Sileia's forehead furrowed; then her eyes widened, and Iolaus knew that she, too, understood. 

"I'm talking to you, Hermes, you fucking coward," he added loudly. "You might as well show yourself now. We're in your temple, after all." 

Nothing. 

"You're not doing so well, huh, Hermes? Your high priest dead, the King of Thieves out of commission, and your brother's horning in on your territory-- come on, I just want to talk, that's all. Come on! You've gotta punish me, at least, remember? For getting Tiro killed? You got Autolycus already, but here I am--" 

And then Hermes was just suddenly _there_, standing in the middle of the room with his arms folded over his pudgy chest, glowering at the impertinent mortal who was bellowing at him in his own temple. 

"You're right," the god said coldly. "I did promise, didn't I? I know a certain lovely lady who'd be thrilled to find you on her doorstep." 

He started to raise his arm. 

"Wait, wait!" Iolaus said hastily. "Hang on. I just want to talk first." 

Hermes raised his eyebrows. "About what, your really spectacular failure? Let me tell you, not everyone can manage to screw up that badly--" 

"No, I was thinking more about you being too afraid to take on the God of War." 

The god bristled. "Excuse me?" 

"You heard me. It's been bugging me, you know, why would you send two thieves after your high priest instead of just getting him yourself? You're a god, after all, you could do that if you wanted." 

"Yeah, I could, if the castle didn't qualify as Ares's property. Xena's not just some random warlord chick, you know, she's his favoritest, his best girl, and in case you've forgotten, Boy Genius, gods don't horn in on other gods' turf." 

"Yeah," Iolaus said, "that'd work, except Xena didn't seem to have any problems taking over _your_ property. And it's been a while since I took any theology classes, but don't you guys have some sort of thing where Ares can bitch all he wants and then you go and say, 'He did it first, it's his fault'?" 

"Oh, right. You took theology classes? What, from that pack of nutball kleptos you used to run with?" 

Iolaus smiled. "No, from that pack of nutball monks I spent ten years with. It wasn't all just sitting around and meditating, you know. They mix it up. Learn to fight a little, go arrange some flowers; fight some more, learn about world religions. That kind of thing. You could have just taken Tiro back and been completely justified, but you didn't. And I'd like to know why." 

"Too bad," Hermes said. "Because you can just keep on wondering." 

Iolaus was shaking his head. "It's the Conqueror, isn't it? She just doesn't play by the rules. But any of you could just kill her in an instant if you wanted, right? I don't--" 

"Oh," Agamede blurted out. "Oh, oh, oh!" Her eyes were wide. "There was-- there was this rumor, a little while ago, I heard-- someone said the Conqueror has the last bit of Hind's blood there is. Does she? Is that it, or--" 

"Okay!" Hermes yelled, and the entire temple seemed to shake. "That's enough!" 

Everyone shut up. 

"Now _you_." The god jabbed a finger at Iolaus. "I told you what'd happen if you failed, and I wasn't just jokin'. Come on, kid, we're off to see the Conqueror." 

"No, wait!" Agamede burst out. 

The others turned as one to stare at her. 

She laced her fingers together tightly and glared at Iolaus. "I made the original prayer," she said. "Well, I withdraw it now. Leave him alone." 

Hermes shook his head. "Doesn't work that way, sweets. You don't just withdraw a prayer. I'm not the patent application office. Besides, Tiro was my high priest, and I'm perfectly within my rights to take whoever's life I want in exchange for his." 

Iolaus gave Agamede a hard stare. Her upper lip twitched. 

"Well, then I'm praying again," she said stubbornly. "In the name of my father, your high priest. He wouldn't want any of this." 

Her eyes met Iolaus's then, and her eyebrows lowered. He frowned, trying to figure out what she was up to. 

Hermes sighed. "You got thirty seconds, kid." 

"All right." She took a deep breath. "I pray to you to spare Iolaus's life and to rescue Autolycus-- in the name of my father, Tiro, High Priest of Hermes, who died to save their lives. I pray for him not to have died in vain. That's all." 

Iolaus started to smile. 

Hermes rolled his eyes. "Oh, bloody Tartarus." 

"Well, what'll it be?" Iolaus jumped in. "You're gonna ignore a prayer in the name of your High Priest? I don't think your worshippers are going to like that much once word of that gets around. And hey, what if people found out that you were too scared to directly challenge Ares for your property?" 

The god smiled, a malicious, humorless smile that looked entirely out of place on his middle-aged face. "Won't happen if you're all dead, now will it?" 

Sileia crossed her arms and asked quietly, "Are you going to kill us?" 

It was almost like hearing a chair speak; even Hermes looked taken aback. Then he sighed and looked at Iolaus. 

"I like you, kid," the god said. "You've got balls. And you're a good thief." 

"Autolycus was the best," Iolaus said. 

"Yeah, yeah. Listen up, and listen closely, 'cause you guys are only getting one shot." 

Agamede cracked her knuckles nervously. The sound was far too loud in the tiny room. 

"You, I'll let off the hook. This time. Your friend, now, he's got one chance. There's an old trial sort of thing we use for these occasions." He fixed Iolaus with a hard stare. "You learn anything about this in your flower-arranging classes?" 

The thief shook his head. 

"Good." Hermes pointed, and a scale appeared in the corner of the room, floating in midair. 

It was an elaborate-looking thing, solid gold encrusted with bright green gems, with various intricate designs carved all around. There was a fancy, flowing script on the bottom that Iolaus didn't recognize. His eyes widened, his thief's mind automatically starting to calculate the value of the thing, and then he noticed something curious about it. An oddly-shaped silver pin was perched on top of the scale at an angle that could only be described as jaunty. Hermes seemed to notice it at the same moment Iolaus did; the god scowled and gave the scale a hard smack, and the pin vanished with a pop and a sound suspiciously like a giggle. 

Then Hermes snapped his fingers, and suddenly the scale was off-balance, a ball of glowing red light weighting the left plate almost below the base. 

"That's the weight of my complaint against the guy," Hermes said. "Or some symbolic crap like that. You guys, whoever wants to, gets a chance to talk. You gotta tip the scales. You do that, I rescue your pal there. Simple as that." 

Iolaus stared at the scale. "How are we supposed to--" 

"That's your problem, isn't it?" Hermes smirked. "So who wants to go first?" 

Agamede exhaled. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible. 

"I'll go." 

* * *

"But this is stupid," Iolaus protested. "She doesn't-- well, okay, maybe she does like him, but she obviously doesn't think too highly of his character. What could she possibly say to make a god think he's worth saving?" 

"Leave her alone," Sileia said. "She has to do this." 

Hermes and Agamede had gone, just vanished from the air into whatever fancy god-space lay beyond reality, Hermes assuring Iolaus that he'd be back for him soon. Until then, Iolaus and Sileia could only sit and wait. 

Iolaus still didn't understand. "Why? Why does she have to? She's just wasting time--" 

"Because she wants to prove to you she's not as heartless and selfish as you think she is," Sileia said. "And she wants to prove it to herself. So lay off her." 

Iolaus frowned, ignoring the faint pangs of guilt in his stomach. "Oh, so you know everything about everyone, huh?" 

Sileia sighed. "I know 'Mede. I know she's still a kid, and I know you should cut her some slack." 

"We can't afford any slack here." 

"That's not what I'm talking about," Sileia said. Her voice was low and even. "You were way too harsh. Remember being seventeen? You're so thoughtless and self-involved and at the same time you care so much about everything, you take things so seriously and you want to change the world, but you don't notice what's happening right under your nose because you're so wrapped up in your own issues and you're still working out what life's supposed to be like. That's 'Mede." 

Iolaus's lip curled up slightly. "When I was seventeen, I was already killing people I didn't even know because my gang didn't like the competition. I don't think I'm much of a template for a normal adolescence." 

"Pretend you're her, then," Sileia said. "'Mede's father was all the family she had. Disagreements aside, she loved him with all her soul." She paused. "I never liked the old man myself, but that's beside the point. If she was thoughtless of the risk your Autolycus was taking, it was because she was too preoccupied with her own problems. But now that you've pointed it out to her, she's terrified that she's really that selfish, so she's going to do whatever she can to prove otherwise." 

"In other words," Iolaus said, "she's a normal kid." 

"Exactly." Sileia fixed him with a level, frozen stare. "And if she does something stupid and gets herself hurt because of what you said, I _will_ kill you." 

Iolaus just snorted. "You'll have to take a numeral." 

They sat in silence for a few moments, and then he burst out, "What's taking so long?" 

Sileia just shrugged and pointed across the room. The red light still hovered, as bright and malevolent as ever. The scale hadn't budged. 

Iolaus sighed. "I was afraid of that." 

He felt her curious gray eyes on him, but she still didn't respond. He suspected that her speech had used up her quota of words for the day. Sileia was the kind of person for whom words were never worth quite as much as one well-placed glare. 

He watched the scale, the scale stayed where it was, and gradually time passed. 

* * *

"Okay, well. Autolycus. I'm not really sure where to start, so I'll just.... Anyway. 

"I didn't really like him the first time I met him. He basically did his best to try and get up my skirt-- of course, at the time, I didn't know that was just his way of saying hello. This was like two years ago, and anyway, I let him know I was definitely _not_ available, and he took it pretty well, which surprised me at the time. I thought-- honestly, hoped-- I'd never see him again, but he turned up at my dad's place like two days later. Turns out they know-- knew each other. I wasn't happy about that at all.... 

"What I figured out, though, eventually, is that he's really a good guy. Essentially, you know, when it comes down to the important things. I mean, he-- he takes people the way they are, instead of expecting them to turn out the way he'd like them to be. He's completely without any prejudice-- I mean, it doesn't surprise him that a woman can fight, or live on her own, or anything, and when I told my dad about me and Sileia, that first time we met, when I got home, he backed me up. Even though we didn't even really know each other then. He wasn't even worried about pissing Dad off, and when my father gets-- got-- upset, there are very few people who don't get scared. Maybe that's more because Autolycus never really thinks about the consequences of the things he says. But-- well, he didn't have to do that, and he did. 

"Maybe he's not the most noble or heroic person in the world. I think it's because he expects too much of other people-- he expects everyone to be able to get themselves out of things, to be as good at surviving as he is, so that he doesn't have to risk anything. I don't think he'd ever get close to someone who couldn't take care of themself. 

"But, well, he is a good person. And a good thief. Almost as good as he says he is. 

"And I like him, and my father gave his life to save him. That night, on those steps, he made a conscious choice to do just that. And... well, if I'd thought about that before, it probably wouldn't have made any difference. I still would have wanted to rescue Dad. I mean, that's just the way things are. 

"But what's done is done, and my dad wanted him safe. And that's good enough for me. 

"That's all. And I really-- I guess I really do care about him. Whether he lives or dies. So. That's it." 

Agamede closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again, and was nearly blinded by a flash of bright white light. 

* * *

When the light faded, she was back in her father's bedroom, sitting on the floor and blinking. 

She looked around at the Spartan furniture, cheaply bought-- there wasn't much of a market for items from Sparta-- and the bare floor and the desk in the corner, and she realized that, no, her father really wasn't coming back to this. Ever again. 

Then her eyes lit on the scale in the corner, and her stomach dropped. 

It hadn't moved. 

Agamede choked back a sudden, unexpected sob-- she couldn't start crying now, she'd never stop-- and risked a glance at Sileia and Iolaus. Her fiancee, as always, looked impassive, but Agamede knew she saw compassion in those pale gray eyes. Iolaus-- 

Well, he looked like the floor had just dropped out from under him, and he was falling right on through to the bottom of the world and into the emptiness beyond. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered, feeling obscurely ashamed. 

He saw her, then, and he shook his head and tried to smile. "It's not over yet." 

"Damn right it ain't," Hermes said, appearing in front of them. "Come on, Goldilocks, you're next." 

Iolaus blinked-- at the nickname, maybe-- and then Hermes reached out and grabbed his shoulder, and the two of them vanished. 

Agamede closed her eyes. A moment later, she felt strong arms wrapping around her and soft lips brushing her neck. 

"I tried," she said softly. "I really did." 

"I know," Sileia murmured, resting her cheek against Agamede's. Long dark hair tickled her nose. "We don't know what Hermes is looking for. Iolaus might be the only one who has it." 

"Gods," Agamede sighed. "All those mind games they play-- honestly, I don't know how you believe the way you do." 

Sileia kissed her softly. "Artemis isn't like Hermes. Besides," she said, "sometimes, it's nice to have something to believe in." 

Agamede shook her head. "I believe in us." 

She felt her lover smile, and then Sileia said, "That's good enough for me." 

* * *

"Okay, well, I've never really argued on behalf of anyone but myself. But I'm told that talking is one of the things I do best. So we'll see how it goes. 

"Autolycus... well, what can I say? The guy's annoying as Tartarus. He just has this-- knack-- for getting under your skin and pissing you off. I think he does it on purpose, which says a lot about him, really. 

"But I think I like him. I mean _like_ like, as a person. He's smart, funny, fun when he's not being an ass... but mostly, he's a good guy. You know that? He's good. And he tried really fucking hard to do what you wanted. Autolycus could have run, you know. He was going to. But he didn't. He stayed, and he risked the worst to try and save Tiro, and the world happened. So he failed. It wasn't for lack of trying, and you owe it to him to help now. 

"But obviously that isn't enough for you, so it begs the question of just what would be. 

"Anyway. Um... he cares about people, he really does. Even though he pretends like he doesn't, and he does a pretty good job of it, it's obvious to anyone who knows him that-- 

"Fuck! Fuck all this, I don't even know what I'm supposed to be doing here! What do you want to hear, huh? How am I supposed to convince a god that a mortal's life is worth saving? You guys don't care about us anyway. We're just funny little playing pieces to you guys! Come on, tell me what you want! I can't play the game if I don't know the fucking rules!" 

**Finally. Someone asks.**

Iolaus spun around at the voice. At least, he thought he did. In a space with no walls, ceiling, or floor, where the whiteness was blinding in its sheer absence of parameters, the physics of movement got a little confused. 

"What?" he demanded, when he didn't see anybody. The voice had been strangely distorted and reverberating, and had seemed to come from everywhere. 

It came again; the vibrations shook him down to his toes. **Well, of course it was a trick question, moron. What did you expect?**

Hermes. Of course. Iolaus shook his head disgustedly. "I guess a sense of fair play would be too much to ask for." 

**This isn't about whether Auto's a "good guy" or if he does "good deeds", it's about whether anyone in the world would actually give a damn if he wasn't saved.**

Iolaus stared around incredulously, then chose one spot at random on which to concentrate all of his indignance. "You think we don't care? Why the Hades would we be doing this if we didn't--" 

**No, no. Not just care, in that abstract way you mortals have, where every life is precious and no one should ever suffer, or some crap like that.**

"Yeah," Iolaus snapped, "I just hate that shit." 

**Exactly. Not like that. That's how Agamede feels, by the way. Don't get mad at the girl, she likes Auto, and she'd be upset if he wasn't saved, but would her life be empty without him? Nooo, I don't think so. She'd get on just fine. Unfortunately, Autolycus left more of an impression in mattresses across Greece than with anything that would make people actually care about him.**

"That's not--" Iolaus paused. "Well, okay, that's fairly accurate. But not-- I mean--" 

**Hey, if you think you can save him, be my guest. I'd be holding my breath if I needed to breathe. Sayonara.**

Iolaus blinked. "Sayo-what?" 

Then he scowled and crossed his arms. "Holding your breath, huh? Hold this." 

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began once again to speak. 

"So I like being around Autolycus. So what, you ask? There are tons of people whose company I enjoy who don't mean anything. Except, you know, in that silly abstract way us mortals have and by the way, that was complete centaur shit, but you're a god, so obviously you don't know any better. 

"Well, what can I say, I'm a friendly guy. 

"So what? I'll tell you what. Ever since we met, I've felt.... 

"Well... the problem is I've always felt like I'm... searching for something. Something that's not here. That's like... I'll probably never... I mean, it's like there's a part of me missing. Something that would make me, you know, whole. And I've spent most of my life looking for that, one way or another, and I don't-- I don't think I'll ever really feel... whole... and don't think I don't feel like an idiot just saying it. But.... 

"Okay, look. I don't really like talking about this stuff, all right? It's just not my thing. Just... anyway. Just so you know. Because I'm not really sure what I'm saying now. 

"He makes me feel a little more complete. There, I said it. And I know you're laughing at me right now, so just... stop. Okay? It's like-- being with him just feels... right. You know, we work pretty well together once he stops being a prima donna for half a second, I'm sure you've noticed that from your godly perch up there on Olympus. 

"It's funny, but with Autolycus... things make a kind of sense they never did when I was in the east. I mean, I feel comfortable with what I am, instead of feeling kind of... well, guilty about it. And I don't know if that's a good thing or not, but it is from your point of view, right? 

"What I'm trying to say is, I guess that I can't imagine him not being here. Even after just a few days, he just feels _right_. I came back because I couldn't find in the east what I was looking for. I think... I might have found it here. 

"And I think.... 

"No. That's enough. Right? It's got to be." 

A moment passed, pregnant and slow and somehow very, very final, and then there was a bright flash of light, and the nothingness dissolved into the room at the temple. 

* * *

Agamede was sitting on the bed, white-faced, her short hair sticking out at odd angles. Beside her was Sileia, her expression unreadable, only her eyes betraying concern-- not for Autolycus, whom she didn't even know, but for her lover. She held Agamede's hand, subtly supporting her. 

Iolaus met Agamede's wide blue eyes and remembered what Hermes had said. Even if Autolycus died for her, she'd get on just fine. He couldn't really blame her for that. 

He looked away. 

Hermes stood in front of them, watching them and blocking Iolaus's view of the scale. 

"You guys are so bizarre," the god said suddenly. "Humans, I mean. Mortals. Not a single thought in your so-called heads is based on logic." He shook his head. "Completely nuts." 

Iolaus stormed across the room and stuck his nose two inches from the god's. He had to stand on tiptoe to do it, but for once he didn't even notice. "Well?" he demanded. "Was that enough?" 

Hermes didn't answer. He just moved aside. 

Iolaus took a step back, staring at the scale, transfixed. The glowing red ball still tipped it downwards; as he watched, a green dot of light appeared on the other plate and began to grow, slowly balancing it out, slowly.... 

He held his breath.... 

And then it stopped. 

The red ball still hung lower than the green. 

His breath went out in a rush, as though he'd been punched in the stomach. "No," he whispered. 

"Sorry," Hermes said. The god actually sounded like he almost meant it. Well, of course, Iolaus thought bitterly, he's losing his best thief. Even if Autolycus isn't really his. 

"No," Iolaus said again, louder this time, whirling around to face the god. "No, that had to be enough. Don't tell me--" 

"It wasn't," Hermes said. "Not what you said." 

Iolaus laughed mirthlessly, suddenly getting it. "You're gonna make me say it, aren't you? You sadistic bastard--" 

Hermes threw up his hands in exasperation. "Me!" he exploded. "Great Zeus, would you people get it through your heads already that I don't control the damned thing?" 

"So you say, O God of _Lies_--" 

"Iolaus," Agamede interrupted. "What's going on?" 

He stabbed a finger in her general direction without even looking at her. "You stay out of this." 

"Touché." Hermes raised an eyebrow. "On both counts. Cut the girl some slack, Iolaus, her father just died." 

Iolaus sighed, frustrated. "Okay, okay, I apologize. To her. Not to you, buddy." 

The god rolled his eyes. "Listen, _buddy_, the scale weighs your words, not your thoughts. If you want something to count, you gotta say it out loud." 

"Iolaus--" 

"Shut up, Agamede." Iolaus squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "And I mean that in the nicest, friendliest possible way." 

After all, it certainly wasn't her fault that she didn't feel the same way about Autolycus as... 

...he did. 

He felt himself grow slightly pale as the implications struck him, and he shook it off. There would be time enough for qualms later. Now they just had to get through this. 

"Okay," he said through clenched teeth, without opening his eyes. "You want to hear it? You got it. 

"I love him." He could feel three pairs of eyes burning into him; he gritted his teeth and plowed onward. "At least, I think I do. Or I could. It's not like I have experience with this sort of thing. I mean, it just hit me a couple minutes ago. But it feels right. And kind of terrifying, but... yeah. Knowing him, I feel like I just woke up, after being asleep all these years, and now I know what it feels like, I can't go back to how I was before. Before all this, I was ready to just die in some stupid accident, because there didn't seem to be a point in trying. Now... well, if I lose him now, I think I'll be back there again. So there you go. Satisfied?" 

Then he sighed, and opened his eyes, and slowly turned around. 

Agamede was staring at him, looking surprised and a little relieved. 

And the green ball was growing again. 

Iolaus held his breath. 

With excruciating slowness, the right plate started to sink, until it dipped below the level of the rising red ball. 

Hardly able to believe it, Iolaus exhaled, his breath sounding obscenely loud in the silence of the temple. 

"Well," Hermes said. "Would you lookit that. Guess it's Auto's lucky day." 

He disappeared. 

End Part 9 

_Feedback feeds starving puppies. No, really. It does._


	11. Chapter 10

"Half A Life" (10/11)  
by Maya Tawi 

_"Some deeds done wrong won't scare me long  
I've done a few, maybe one or two"  
-Luscious Jackson_

Iolaus stared at the empty spot where Hermes had just been standing. 

"Well," he said faintly. "That... wasn't so hard." 

Then small, surprisingly strong hands were gripping his shoulders and leading him back to the bed. "Sit down," Agamede said. "You're gonna fall over if you don't." 

"I feel fine." Even so, Iolaus followed her and dropped down to the mattress. His knees felt strangely weak. 

"You don't have to worry," Agamede said. "Hermes'll take care of it now." 

He laughed weakly. "Trust Hermes? You gotta be kidding me." 

"Hermes keeps his word, I'll give him that much. The trick half the time is just figuring out what his word is." 

Iolaus shook his head and looked up, meeting Sileia's iron, unforgiving gaze. Then he sighed and turned back to the priest's daughter. 

"Listen, Agamede," he began, "what I said--" 

"Don't worry," she said again, with a halfhearted smile. "You said some things I needed to hear." 

"I didn't really mean it." 

"Even so, it's done now. And I actually feel... well, not better, but--" She hesitated, then changed the subject entirely. "Iolaus, um, what are you going to do if Autolycus doesn't...." 

"If he doesn't feel the same way?" Iolaus shrugged. "I don't know. Take what I can get, I guess. But as long as he's alive and okay, everything else is more or less incidental." 

The words were barely out of his mouth when Hermes reappeared, carrying an unconscious Autolycus. Iolaus rose to his feet. 

"Here, you got your boy back," Hermes said without preamble. "Please, hold your applause, a lifetime of devotion'll suffice." 

"Well," Iolaus said, "that's very--" He paused, seeing Agamede's tight-lipped look of pain. "So why couldn't you do this for Tiro, exactly? Oh, yeah, I forgot. You were chicken." 

Hermes scowled. "Hey, do you want me to take him back?" 

Iolaus sighed. "No. No, I don't." 

"Fine. Then shut the fuck up about it." He patted Iolaus on the head. "The gods work in mysterious ways, kid. Don't try to figure it out." 

Then he settled Autolycus on the bed with surprising gentleness, and all thoughts of an angry retort fled from Iolaus's mind. 

He'd only caught a glimpse of Autolycus earlier, as the soldiers were taking him down from the cross. One of the spectators had filled him in, saying that the Conqueror had broken his hands and legs, but when it came to specifics, Iolaus hadn't known exactly what to expect. 

Whatever it was, he wasn't prepared for this. 

Autolycus's legs were bent at angles that legs were never meant to bend at. In some places, the black leather was thickly matted with dry blood. Someone, it seemed, had been using his legs for a festival game, and whoever it was would have won the biggest stuffed hydra in the lot. As far as Iolaus could tell, his shinbones had been completely shattered. 

But worse even than that were his hands. They had been smashed to bloody pulps. Jagged bone shards poked through the skin in places, and ugly scabs had already started to form over the open wounds. The unbroken skin was colored in shades of purple and blue, and the hands were swelled to twice their normal size. If they healed like that, they'd be paralyzed for life, Iolaus realized with a shiver. Those skilled hands, immobile, in constant pain.... 

He swallowed hard, but he didn't look away. He owed Autolycus that much. 

And then the King of Thieves opened his eyes. 

Iolaus inhaled sharply. He barely recognized the brown eyes that looked up at him-- eyes that were normally so warm and alive and mocking, now cold and distant. And, as he recognized Iolaus' face, very confused. 

"What's going on?" Autolycus asked finally, his voice little more than a hoarse croak. 

"It's okay," Iolaus whispered, not letting his emotions show. "You're safe now. You're in Tiro's temple. We'll hide you, get you out of town--" 

Autolycus laughed. It was a harsh, horrible sound. "You think that matters now? You taken a good look at me yet?" 

"Autolycus--" 

"Just kill me. Get it over with." He turned his head away. 

"Don't--" 

"It's bound to happen anyway. I'd rather you do it." 

Iolaus couldn't take it anymore. He glanced up at Hermes, a sudden memory making his eyes widen. "You healed him before," he said to the god. "You can do it now." 

Autolycus's expression didn't change, but something like a glimmer of life entered his dark eyes. 

Hermes said, "Wait just a minute. That wasn't in the deal." 

Iolaus didn't think, just acted-- his left hand shot out and grabbed Hermes by the collar. "You _are_ going to," he growled. "You said you'd rescue him, and this is part of it. He's a thief-- it's not what he does, it's who he _is_. If you leave him like this, he's better off dead." 

"Gee, thanks," Autolycus muttered. 

"Shut up. A second ago you were asking me to kill you, and I'm not gonna listen to that." Iolaus stared unflinchingly into the god's face. "So what'll it be?" 

Hermes levelled him with a cool, unconcerned gaze, and Iolaus suddenly realized what he was doing. He was threatening a god with-- what? Nothing he could actually follow through on. His fingers tightened as he wondered how far he would be allowed to go. If he were dealing with, say, Ares, he knew, he'd have been dead already. 

This god just stared at him for a full minute and then said, "I didn't say I wouldn't, just that I never said I would." 

Iolaus glared. "So you will?" 

"I'm considering." 

"Forget it," Autolycus said dully. "He can't do it." 

Hermes bristled. "Of course I can. I'm a god." 

"If he could, he would," Autolycus continued. "What decent God of Thieves would want to lose the King of Thieves?" 

Iolaus started to grin, then bit his lip and continued to scowl. 

Hermes snorted. "You're trying to trick me into it." 

"It's true, though," Agamede piped up. Iolaus almost lost his grip on the god; he'd forgotten that she was there. "You'd look pretty silly if word got around." 

"And if Autolycus isn't healed," Sileia cut in, "word will get around." 

Always a surprise to hear her talk, Iolaus thought. He nodded at the two women. "What they said. So what'll it be?" 

Hermes scowled and, without warning, disappeared, leaving Iolaus grasping at empty air. 

He felt his stomach drop. He was still blinking when, a second later, the god reappeared beside the bed. Autolycus yelped in surprise. 

Hermes laid his hands on the thief's crooked legs, then hesitated and glanced back at Iolaus. "This is gonna hurt," he said shortly. "You wanna hold beloved's hands here, or shoulder as it may be, I suggest you get your ass over here." 

"What do you mean, it's gonna hurt?" Iolaus demanded, hurrying to the bed and resting his hands on Autolycus's shoulders. "It didn't hurt last time. If you're doing this on purpose--" 

"Who, me?" Hermes looked innocent and indignant, all at the same time. "Hey, buddy, he's lucky I'm even warning him. For that matter, he's lucky I'm even doing this in the first place. So quit bitching." 

"But--" 

"Quit it, I said." 

Iolaus opened his mouth to argue further, but Autolycus cut him off, saying through clenched teeth, "Iolaus, I love ya for this, but would you please shut up?" 

Iolaus turned to gape down at him, the god held his hands over the Autolycus's broken legs, a red hot light flared up, and Autolycus screamed. 

* * *

The next few minutes were pure torture; Agamede found a piece of firewood for Autolycus to hold in his mouth, and Iolaus's hands never left his shoulders. It felt like days passed before it was finally over. 

Hermes stepped back. 

Autolycus sat up unsteadily and reached for the firewood btween his teeth. He dropped it to the floor and looked at his hands with something like awe. 

"There," Hermes said. "Check out the merchandise. Good as new. Hope you appreciate it. If any of you ever calls me again, I'm ripping out your spleen." And with that, he was gone, the long-forgotten scale vanishing with him. 

Four pairs of eyes blinked at the spot where he'd been standing. 

"You think he was serious?" Iolaus asked. 

Agamede said sourly, "I wouldn't put it past him." 

"Huh," Iolaus said. "Gods. Who can figure 'em." 

Autolycus glanced up at Agamede, then looked away. "Ags," he said in a low voice, "I'm sorry. For everything. I tried-- honest to Zeus, I really did." 

She waved away the apology with a curious lack of expression. "Don't be," she said, voice brittle. "I know you did. I'm sorry too." 

"But you're not--" 

Agamede cut him off, and her words held an unmistakable note of finality. "It's the way he lived his life." 

Then she glanced back at Iolaus, who had been watching the entire exchange with an open mouth, and smiled sweetly. "Of course, I'm not the only one with something to say." 

Iolaus shot her the blackest glare he could muster, then turned to Autolycus, who had swung his legs over the side of the bed and was watching them with an apprehensive look on his face. 

Iolaus knew exactly how he felt. 

"So," Autolycus said. 

"So." Iolaus paused. Had he really meant...? 

He opened his mouth to ask, and found himself saying instead, lamely, "I'm glad you're all right." 

"Oh. Yeah." Autolycus hesitated. "Uh, thanks. For that. I really... I appreciate it." 

And their eyes met in a reluctant mutual understanding. Iolaus started to smile. 

Agamede rolled her eyes. "Aw, you guys," she said. "You're so inarticulate. That's so cute." 

"Shut up, Agamede," the two men said together, never taking their eyes off each other. 

Sileia took her fiancee gently by the arm. "We'll leave you two alone now," she announced, steering Agamede towards the entrance. 

"No, wait," Autolycus said suddenly, breaking Iolaus' gaze and turning to the women. "I need to talk to you guys. All of you." He hesitated. "Listen, I know this sounds crazy, but, uh... we need to go back in." 

* * *

It was god and inanimate object that vanished from the temple in Corinth, and god and inanimate object that reappeared several hundred leagues away, in an empty temple in an abandoned city. 

Hermes set the scale down on the cracked altar and stepped back. A moment later there was a crackle and a burst of blue light, and the heavy golden scale began to grow taller, slimming down as it lengthened. Eventually it settled on a human shape, that of a tall, gangly man, perched on the edge of the alter with his shoulders hunched, giggling uncontrollably. 

Hermes rolled his eyes. 

Strife, God of Mischief and flighty right hand to Ares, assuming the God of War was left-handed, caught the motion and immediately tried to sober up. He didn't have much success. 

"That was fantastic!" he shrieked, giving up and falling over backwards on top of the altar. "Was that not fantastic, Herm? Somebody's in lu-urrve...." Strife dissolved into giggles again. "Goldilocks and Auto, sittin' in a tree--" 

"Strife," Hermes said, "shut up." 

Strife stopped, snapping his mouth shut and staring at the blue sky overhead through one of the many holes in the ceiling. Then, just as suddenly, he sat up, scratching at the back of his head. 

"Why the Musical Chairs, Unc?" he demanded, letting slip the name he usually reserved for Ares. Maybe he just used it for whoever was giving him orders at the time. "Why not just heal the twerp an' get on with it? Not that I wasn't havin' fun or anything, but I coulda been doing something way cooler, you know?" 

"Yes," Hermes said, "like inducing a rash of farm animal molestations." 

Strife rubbed his hands together and grinned. "Hey, don't knock it, man. I got the skills." 

Hermes just stared at him, visibly struggling to keep quiet. Strife narrowed his eyes and wished not for the first time that he could read gods' minds. 

"I had to make it as unpleasant as possible," Hermes said finally. "You think I want those two running to me for help every time they get in a scrape? Thinking, 'Oh, we can always count on our ol' buddy Hermes!' I don't think so. I meant every word of what I said. I never wanna talk to those assholes again." 

"Ah." Strife nodded. He wasn't sure he understood, but if he pretended he did, his next question might seem less moronic. "Why bother at all, then?" 

Hermes sighed, looking wistful. 

"They're two of the best thieves I've seen in a long time," he said dreamily. "Get both of them together and watch the entire Empire duck, oh yeah, baby. If they'd quit fighting for five seconds and get on with the screwing." He glanced at Strife. "They're good with the mischief, too. See, there's where you come in." 

"Ooh," Strife said. "Got it." 

He giggled again. 

"'Snice to be doing stuff, y'know?" he added, swinging his legs over the side of the altar. "I mean, Unc-- Ares-- he's been totally a downer since this Xena chick took over the world an' all. He's, like, obsessed with her. Wants everything to go the way _she_ wants it to, so I don't get to go out and stir up mischief now. I mean, hello-oo, it's my job title, and what do I do? Hang around keepin' house for the God of War." Strife heaved a sigh. "There ain't even any good wars for me to oversee, not since that Verca-whatever guy was executed in Gaul. Just these little baby uprisings that get put down in like five minutes. It's _bo-ring_." 

Hermes' eyes were bright and unreadable. 

"Are you saying," he said, "that good ol' Ares isn't doing such a good job anymore?" 

Strife opened his mouth. Then he closed it again. His vapor blue eyes went as wide as they could without popping out of his head. 

"No!" he squeaked. "Oh no ya don't, you're not gettin' me that way. Ares is doin' a great job. I don't know what you're talkin' about. I am not a crook!" His eyes rolled up dramatically and he flopped backwards again, draping his arm over his face in a mock-faint. 

Or maybe it wasn't so mock. Ares took a very dim view of disloyalty in his employees. After all, he had more than enough for the lot of them. 

"Still," Hermes was saying, "you're right, there haven't been any major wars for a while. He must be going pretty soft." 

Strife uncovered his face and turned a baleful eye in the other god's direction. "You ain't gettin' a word out of me, buddy. I'm outta here--" 

"Strife! Strife, I'm not trying to get you to say anything against Ares. I'm just worried about him." The words sounded foreign and unconvincing coming from Hermes' lips, and Strife snorted in disbelief. "If he doesn't have what it takes to do the job anymore--" 

"Yeah, well, that's where you're wrong," Strife snapped, sitting up and jabbing an accusing finger at the skeptical god. "'Cause Unc's been majorly pissed off at something for the last day or so, buddy, so just you wait, 'cause any day now he's gonna be kickin' some serious ass and--" 

He broke off with a sinking feeling of dread, as he felt the very object of their conversation yelling for him. Bellowing, in fact. "--And, fuck, I gotta go. _Fuck_." 

He glared at Hermes' smug smirk. Ares was in a bad mood, which before Xena would have inevitably led to a war of some kind. Now the God of War relieved his frustrations in other ways-- mainly, fucking and pummelling Strife. He'd vanished just in time when Ares had shown up earlier that day, recognizing the warning signs, but now that Ares was calling for him specifically, Strife couldn't avoid him anymore. If he did, his eventual punishment would be much worse than whatever Ares had wanted in the first place. Ares in a bad mood was not a pleasant thing to be around. 

And judging from the look on Hermes' face, he knew all about that. Fuck. Some days it felt like all of Olympus was aware of Strife's position as Ares's official whipping boy and punching bag-- all of Greece, even. 

It seriously sucked. 

Strife's glare became a glower. "I'll deal with you later," he warned Hermes, both of them knowing that it was an empty threat; Hermes was, after all, one of the twelve major Olympians, while Strife was barely an afterthought in the pantheon. But it made him feel better to say it. 

Then, bracing himself, the God of Mischief dematerialized, bound for the Halls of War. 

* * *

"_What_?" Iolaus exploded. "Did they smash your head in too? 'Cause I could've sworn you just said--" 

"We need to go back in," Autolycus repeated quietly. "That girl's in there." He was still staring at his hands, still a little stunned by everything that had just happened. In the space of a few hours, he'd had his life taken away from him and then handed back on a silver platter, and he was about to go back and risk it once again. 

Glancing up at Iolaus's bewildered face, he really wished he didn't have to explain why. 

"The rebel leader," he clarified. "We have to get her out." 

"Some girl the Conqueror crucified for inciting people to riot," Agamede murmured at Iolaus's blank look. "I thought she was dead." 

"She's not," Autolycus said, "and she did a lot more than just incite a riot. And we have to rescue her." 

Iolaus narrowed his eyes. "And why would we do that?" 

Autolycus coughed and looked away, embarrassed. "'Cause I kind of owe it to her," he mumbled. 

Iolaus threw his hands up, looking furious. Autolycus would have been flattered if it weren't so damned annoying. "Oh, that's great, just great. Perfect end to a perfect fucking day. And why exactly do you owe it to her, may I ask?" 

Autolycus glared up at him. "One, I think I've had a slightly more difficult day than you have, and beta, what-the-fuck-ever happened to 'life matters, respect it' and all that other crap you were spewing earlier?" 

"Yeah, well, there's a difference between that and trying to save every life between here and Thrace! So I ask again-- _why_ do you owe her?" 

"She saw me, all right?" Autolycus snapped, neatly sidestepping the question for the time being. "I mean, there we are, sneaking in and out of the castle, and she's lying there with broken legs--" 

"Broken legs?" Iolaus rolled his eyes. "Oh, this just keeps getting better. In case you've forgotten, you never even got out last time--" 

"I'll ignore that--" 

"You're not supposed to fucking ignore it!" 

"Well, I will anyway. Ladies?" Autolycus appealed. "You're with me on this, right?" 

Agamede looked hesitant. And, for some reason, ashamed. "Autolycus... look, um, as much as I appreciate this uncharacteristic show of concern for someone you don't even know--" 

"Uncharacteristic?" He blinked, noting the glance Iolaus threw her. It looked almost... triumphant? "I think I-- okay, fine," he conceded, "You've got a point, Ags. But this is different." 

"Different how?" she demanded. When he didn't answer, she sighed. "I just don't know. I mean, it does seem kind of, oh, stupid would be the word?" 

"That's the one," Iolaus said darkly. 

"It's just, you know, to risk it now, after-- after everything...." Agamede trailed off. 

"Okay, fine." Autolycus stood; a faint tremor went through his just-healed legs, until they remembered that they weren't broken anymore, and he grabbed for the wall to keep his balance. "I'll do it myself." 

"But that's--" 

"You can't--" 

"Hello there," Autolycus said to the dark-haired woman standing quietly behind them. "I don't believe we've met. You must be Agamede's legendary intended." He bowed as low as he dared, still feeling a little light-headed. "The pleasure is all mine." 

Sileia-- he was pretty sure it was her-- regarded him with cool gray eyes. "Why do you owe her?" 

He groaned. "Oh, not you too." 

"Autolycus," Iolaus said. 

And it was the way he said it-- Iolaus, Mister Moody, with his voice a tangled-up knot of all sorts of emotions, warning and pleading and questioning and angry and, Zeus help them both, under it all there was real concern. 

For him. 

Autolycus sighed and dropped back down on the bed, feeling all of his annoyance drain away. He looked down at his boots and idly scratched at a scuff mark. 

"Because," he began, addressing his boots. He sighed again. "Zeus, this is hard... 'cause I'm pretty much the reason she got caught in the first place, all right?" 

Dead silence. Then Iolaus said, "What?" 

"It's how I got caught the first time too," Autolycus continued, and once the words started coming, he couldn't seem to stop them. "She was at the castle looking for, I don't know, state secrets or something, whatever it is a good rebel leader looks for. I wouldn't know. She was on her way out when I was coming in. We tripped over each other and set off the alarm. She ran for the outside and I went for a hiding place inside, figuring that once they saw her running they'd stop looking for the intruder. No such luck, of course. We were both caught, but thanks to your incredibly convenient double and his antics, I managed to escape. She, obviously, didn't." 

He didn't look up once while he was talking. When he finished, no one said anything for a few long moments, and eventually Autolycus raised his head, looking not at Agamede or Sileia but at the man he might, maybe, possibly... 

...care a lot about. 

Or something. 

Iolaus' eyes were confused, bewildered-- and accusing. "I can't believe you just left her like that," was the first thing that came out of his mouth. 

"Yeah, well, what was I supposed to do?" Autolycus said defensively. "It's not like she was completely blameless, you know. She did break in. So I was supposed to jump out and yell 'Take me instead'? Wave something shiny in front of the guards and distract them till she got away? Yeah, that would've worked great." 

Iolaus scowled. "She was doing what she did for a good cause. You gave her away and intended to hide until they caught her, then get on with your stealing. And you dont see anything wrong with that?" 

"Hello-oo, anyone home?" Autolycus wiggled his fingers pointedly in the other man's face. "First of all, I _thought_ she could take care of herself. I mean, I honestly thought she'd get away. That girl ran like she'd been launched from a catapult, and she'd have made it, too, if the perimeter patrol hadn't come round at that exact moment." 

He paused for breath, then continued, "And anyway, did you forget why exactly we're discussing this now? I mean, I may be seriously kidding myself here, but I _want_ to go back and make up for it. I don't have a fucking clue why, except you must've actually gotten through to me at some point, all right? Congratulations. Now do you see my point? Tiro's already dead because of me, and I don't want some kid's living Tartarus on my conscience as well. So are you with me on this, or what?" 

Autolycus found himself holding his breath as he studied Iolaus's face. 

"So," Iolaus said after a moment. "We need to get this crippled girl out, get her to a healer before the bones set, and somehow manage not to get caught. Again. All while they've got increased security and one pissed-off Conqueror, who may or may not have noticed you missing yet. Have I got it all?" 

"More or less," Autolycus said, "yeah." Something in him kept trying to break out into a grin, and it took all of his willpower to remind himself that this was serious, that there was nothing to be smiling about. 

Agamede was whispering into Sileia's ear. Sileia nodded, and Agamede said, "Leia knows this healer who's like a magician. If anything can be done, she can do it. But we have to take this girl there by ourselves, 'cause they're Amazons, and they won't let a man get within miles." 

"Now wait a minute," Autolycus said. "This is my problem. You guys--" 

"Oh, can it." Agamede folded her arms across her chest. "We're going to help whether you like it or not, and don't you dare argue this time." 

Autolycus sighed, recognizing the signs. Agamede was ready to fight to the death. 

"Well, we seem to have everything worked out now, don't we?" Iolaus didn't look happy. "Auto, do you have any idea what that harpy will do to you if she catches you again?" 

He blinked at the intimacy of the nickname but didn't comment. They were far beyond intimacy by now. "Fuck, Iolaus, she's so pissed off by now, she'd kill either of us on sight. That's not the point." He paused. "You really don't have to do this, you know. I wasn't trying to guilt you into it or anything." 

"I'm not concerned for my fucking self!" Iolaus retorted. "Fifteen minutes ago you were begging me to kill you and now you want to go try again? I just-- I can't deal with that again. Okay?" 

An unfamiliar, not entirely unpleasant feeling began to uncurl in Autolycus' stomach. "I... appreciate that," he said slowly, carefully. "I really do. But with all due understanding, Iolaus... you can't keep me safe." 

As soon as he said it, he found himself holding his breath again. Maybe he'd misinterpreted. Maybe it didn't mean what he thought. Maybe.... 

Maybe he was really sick and tired of feeling like a fluttery virgin. 

Agamede, meanwhile, was raising her eyebrows; if they went any higher, in fact, they'd be floating around her head like a pair of antlers. "Now you know how I feel," she announced to the world in general. 

Autolycus glared at her, and she gave him a very pointed look in return. 

Finally Iolaus raised his hands in a weary mock-surrender. "Okay, okay. Let's not get into this right now. You have to do it; I get that. Now there's four of us and one Conqueror-- how hard could it be?" 

Despite his flippant words, he still looked grim, and when his eyes met Autolycus' he shot him a glower that quite clearly translated to 'If you don't get out of this one alive, I'll kill you.' 

Autolycus just gave him a confident smirk. "Not very," he said. "We're bound to get it right one of these days." He jumped up off the bed and started to pace. "Here's what I'm thinking. The first time I got caught because the alarm got tripped. The second time, Xena expected us, and there really wasn't any good way to get around that. This time? There's no way she'll be waiting. Either she'll think she's won, or if she's noticed that I'm gone, she'll expect us to be halfway to Chin by now." 

"Yeah," Iolaus muttered, "we'd have to be crazy to go back in." 

Autolycus grinned again. "That's what I'm counting on." He felt the old thrill of pursuit swelling up inside him again. Not only was this a way to clear his conscience, but it was one way to prove, once and for all, the he could outdo the Conqueror. It would, he knew, be the very last chance he'd ever get. 

It would work this time. It had to. 

* * *

Gabrielle had a lot of time to think. 

It was a curious life, being the Conqueror's prisoner. She was fed regularly, three times a day, with the best food she'd ever tasted in her life (and no disloyalty intended to her mother, but even Hecuba's best nutbread couldn't hold a candle to the castle cuisine). Servants scurried in and out, changing her bedpan, bringing her new blankets, and generally waiting on her hand, foot, and every other available extremity. 

But the Conqueror herself never showed her face. And no one came to set her legs, either. After the first day the blinding pain had subsided to a dull ache; while it was certainly still noticeable, at least she was getting used to it. 

Lying on her back all day and staring at the ceiling, Gabrielle's mind worked a mile a minute. Already she'd started chronicling the story of her capture in her head, and her fingers itched for a quill and some scrolls. If she could just write down her experiences, maybe one day someone would find it and-- what? Decide never to rise up in his entire life, that's what, lest he end up like poor hapless Gabrielle of Poteidaia. 

Maybe the Conqueror was right, and the cure for spirit was fear. The people of Corinth certainly seemed cured. 

She wished she could at least write a letter to Lilla; her sister was all the family she had left. But what would she say, anyway? "Hey sis, I've been captured by the Conqueror, but at least I'm still alive. Got two broken legs, but she's being a perfect lady about it and not making me do any heavy lifting. I think she's trying to fatten me up. How are the kids?" 

No, Lilla had a husband now, and a family, and Gabrielle had no right to worry her like that. 

But it did make her feel pretty alone. 

I'm not alone, she reminded herself. I've got friends. I have my Cause. 

The Cause of overthrowing the Conqueror, so people like her and her sister could sleep soundly at night. So people like their parents wouldn't be hauled off by soldiers in the middle of the night, never to be heard from again. 

She hadn't been sure how to go about it. She had no experience in plotting an insurrection, after all, and she'd wanted to do it in as nonviolent a way as possible. The thought of killing another human being made her feel queasy. And besides, her sister could beat her up. 

You're not a freedom fighter, Lilla had told her the day she'd left. With tears in her always-surprised-looking blue eyes, and a question too-- why couldn't her big sister just settle down and marry and be happy, like she had? There was Perdicas waiting in the wings, and a life of domestic nonadventure beckoning. 

You're not a freedom fighter, she'd said, you're a freedom arguer. What could you possibly do? 

But in the end, Gabrielle was still determined to go, and so they bade each other tearful good-byes and hugged as tightly as they could, as though they'd never let go. 

She hadn't known where to start, so she had turned to the only weapon she knew she could use-- information. Trying to find some in the Conqueror's files; some clue, some weak spot that she could chip away at, and use to bring down the tyrannical regime. 

Gabrielle thought sadly, And look where it got me. 

Maybe Lilla had been right. 

Maybe she hadn't. 

Because she _had_ seen the scrolls. She knew the positions of the Conqueror's secret armies, she knew their supply lines, and if she ever got out of there, she could put together her own army to... what? 

She didn't want to consider violence, not yet. Not if anything else could possibly work.... 

And the doorknob turned. 

Slowly, silently, and Gabrielle frowned, wondering how long she'd been lost in thought. She didn't think it was time for dinner yet. 

Then the door opened, and a figure slipped in and shut it behind him, turning towards her. 

Gabrielle sat up with some difficulty. "You again," she said with a sigh. "Don't you have a home?" 

"Funny," the intruder said. "That's funny." He seemed to be about to say something more, then hesitated and shut his mouth. 

She studied him thoughtfully. He was maybe fifteen years older than she, and good-looking, she had to admit-- good facial features, dark hair, and a crazy mustache-and-goatee combination that somehow seemed to work for him. He carried himself with an arrogance that nevertheless seemed somewhat cowed in her presence. She wondered if he envisioned himself as the debonair hero or the dashing outlaw. Either way, she resolved, she was _not_ going to swoon in his arms. 

Instead she said, "I thought we established that I don't have anything you want." 

"No," the intruder said, "but I have something you want." He paused dramatically, during which time Gabrielle formulated dozens of scathing responses, and then he said, "A way out." 

Her various retorts died on her lips. 

She watched him through narrowed eyes and thought she saw him fidget. "And how would you manage that exactly?" 

He bowed low. "Good lady, I am the King of Thieves. Locked doors are a mere formality for me." 

"You're--" Gabrielle began. "But I thought--" She stopped. Obviously not. 

"There's a sentence in there," the self-professed King of Thieves said, "just dying to get out. Listen, kid, do you want out or not?" 

She let herself fall back down against the hard bed. "Why would you help me?" 

"Much as it pains me to admit it, I do owe you one," he said. "And I don't say that to just anyone, so if you could consider yourself flattered, I'd certainly appreciate it." 

"Right." Gabrielle gave him a hard stare. "Because I got crucified and you didn't." 

She thought she saw him wince. "Something like that." 

"Well, look," she said. "Don't do me any favors, pal. I'm not blaming you for this, okay? You got lucky, I didn't. End of story." 

His expression flickered, and she added, "I forgive you, okay? That is what you want, right? Now leave already." 

The King of Thieves looked slightly put out. "Well, see, you're supposed to come with me," he explained, with exaggerated patience. "That's kind of the point of the whole exercise." 

Gabrielle smiled at him sweetly. "Well, you _see_, it's not that I don't trust you, but, well, I really don't trust you. You've done enough for me already." 

He frowned. "I thought you just said you're not blaming me." 

"I'm not," she said. "But I could. Look at it from my perspective, huh? I'm caught and crucified. You're free to wander around the castle at your leisure. It doesn't take Plato to figure out you must've struck a deal with the Conqueror, and now she's using you to find out if I can be trusted. Well, you run back and tell her it's not that easy." 

The frown became a scowl. "And it never occurred to you that I could've, oh, maybe gotten away?" 

"If you did, then why come back? Twice, I might add." 

"Oh, for the--" He rolled his eyes. "We're here to get you out, okay? That's why." 

"We?" 

He hesitated. "Yeah," he said finally. "Me and a couple others." He reached out and opened the door; a tall, dark-haired woman in a faded blue and green fighting dress flicked them a coolly disinterested glance, before turning her attention back to the hallway. For a brief, panicked moment, Gabrielle thought she was Xena, but this woman was too slender to be the sturdy Conqueror. 

The thief closed the door again. 

"Too bad it's not you and an army," was all she said. 

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, "for the next time. I got a question for you, huh, kid? Why would our benevolent ruler expect any loyalty from you, anyway?" 

Gabrielle sighed. "Well, she wouldn't. But she'd want to know if she broke my spirit, right? That's her thing. The cure for spirit is fear." 

"And you're scared of her now," he said. Gabrielle looked up sharply. "But you've still got spirit, rah-rah, yes you do. So she was wrong about one thing, wasn't she?" 

She just stared at him for a long moment. Gabrielle prided herself on her ability to read faces, but right then, his might as well have been written in Chinese-- it was as impenetrable as Athenian marble. 

Aha, she thought, you're not as unscathed as you want me to think. 

He looked away. "Okay, look. About this whole thing, I'm--" His voice dropped so low that Gabrielle had to strain to hear it. "I'm sorry, okay?" 

She propped herself up on her elbows. "That's awfully hard for you, isn't it?" 

The thief scowled again. "I don't like apologizing. It goes against my principles. So, incidentally, does this whole search-and-rescue thing, so do you think we could possibly crack the reins a bit here?" 

"Why would you?" she returned. At his blank look, she added, "Come back for me, I mean. If it's so out of character for you, why would you do it?" 

He groaned. "Oh, don't ask." 

"I just did." 

After a moment, he said shortly, "Fine. He's blond, about your height, and it's something that's kind of important to him. Okay? Not letting your actions have consequences for other people. So I'm giving it a shot. For him. All right? Happy now?" 

Gabrielle felt her eyes grow wide. Wow, she thought, the legendary King of Thieves's been domesticated. It was a frightening thought. 

Then she thought, I guess he won't expect me to swoon in his arms after all. 

Misinterpreting-- or perhaps correctly interpreting-- her expression, he added hastily, "But don't let it get around, all right? I do have a reputation, and this won't help it one bit." 

Gabrielle came to a decision. 

"Come over here," she said. "Do something for me." 

He did, warily. "Look, kid, if we could hurry it up--" 

"Put your hand up my skirt." 

At his thunderstruck expression, she added irritably, "I didn't mean it that way. Try anything and your nose'll be bleeding for a week." 

"Oh no," he said. "Wouldn't dream of it." He eased his hand under the hem of her long, heavy skirt, taking care, she noticed, not to jostle her legs. "Um. What am I doing here, exactly?" 

"There's a hidden pocket next to the side seam," she said. "It's sewn shut. I want you to rip the stitches and tell me if there's anything there." 

After a few moments of fumbling, he found the pocket. "I'll tell you something," he groused, tugging at the seam, "you ladies wear way too much clothing. No, I mean that in a purely practical sense. You have enough here to make three whole outfits. Waste of fabric, if you ask me. If you had a little less skirt here, we could've been gone already-- ah-ha, here we go." 

As he pulled the pocket open, Gabrielle couldn't help thinking that he'd probably had a lot of experience at ripping the seams of women's clothing, if half of what she'd heard about him was true. "Anything there?" she demanded, forestalling the possibility of another lecture on fashion. 

"Just some old parchments," he mumbled, accompanied by soft rustling sounds. "Hold on. Um. This one's a list of names. And this looks like battle plans--" 

Gabrielle let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "That's it, then. Could you hold on to those for me?" 

"--or possibly some innovative bagball maneuvers... huh? Sure. This mean we can go now?" 

She studied his face for a moment. Gabrielle knew she was too trusting sometimes, but after dealing with spies and double agents for the past year or so she knew a little something about reading people. And the King of Thieves, paradoxially enough, seemed like someone she could trust. 

Besides, it would make a great story. 

"Yeah," she said. "Why not?" 

"Hallelujah," he said with feeling. He stood and lifted her into his arms-- with some difficulty, and what she was sure was a rude muttered comment about her weight that she chose to ignore. The movement sent stabs of pain through her legs, and she bit her tongue in an effort to distract herself. 

"Just hang on," he added. "As soon as you're out of here, the fightin' lady out there'll set your legs the best she can, and then she'll get you to a healer." 

Gabrielle nodded. "Incidentally," she said, talking mainly to focus on the action instead of the pain, "I accept your apology." 

"Apology?" 

"Yeah. Earlier. You apologized." 

"No I didn't." 

"Sure you did--" 

"Must've been someone else. I don't apologize." 

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "Right," she said, suppressing a groan as he shifted her weight in his arms in order to reach the doorknob. "My mistake." 

"I'll say." 

"Hey," she said, as he gave up on the doorknob and kicked lightly at the base of the door. "I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Gabrielle of Poteidaia." 

"Autolycus," he said, "King of Thieves." 

"So I've heard." 

The door opened again, and the tall woman in the fighting clothes was still standing there. She looked at them for a minute, then just said, "We're good?" 

"We're definitely good," Autolycus said. "Come on, Sileia, let's move our asses." 

"Guards are on their way. Patrol." 

"All the more reason." He nodded vaguely towards Gabrielle. "Gabrielle of Poteidaia, Sileia the mystery woman and the silent betrothed." 

"Pleased to meet you," Gabrielle ventured. The situation seemed to call for it. 

Sileia nodded and stepped back, her sword at the ready. 

Autolycus and Gabrielle set off down the hall, and Sileia followed without a word. 

End Part 10 

_Love, hate? Utterly indifferent? Let me know._


	12. Epilogue

"Half A Life" (11/11)  
by Maya Tawi 

_"If it comes naturally  
That's the way it ought to be  
If it feels brand new  
Just let it come, it's up to you  
Don't look back  
And don't look ahead"  
-Luscious Jackson_

"Don't worry, we'll get her there safely." 

Iolaus hesitated. "We can go with you for a while. Just in case--" 

"No, no, no." Agamede shook her head. "You guys need to get as far away as you can before they start looking. Don't worry, we can take care of ourselves." She slung an arm proudly over her fiancee's shoulder. "You've never seen Sileia fight." 

Sileia just rolled her eyes and smiled. 

Autolycus looked around at the impromptu camp. The girl, Gabrielle, was asleep next to the fire, stretched out on the litter they'd managed to make out of some branches and Sileia's bedroll. Every so often she would whimper softly in pain, and the thief's stomach would tighten. _I caused that._

Because of his ambitions, one person was dead and another was probably crippled for life, all in the space of three days. It was almost enough to make a guy look into a different line of work. 

Almost but not quite. 

Because being a thief was all he knew. It was who he was. 

And it had worked out, hadn't it? At least Gabrielle was safe for the time being. The entire rescue mission had hinged on his skills as a thief, and it had gone off without a hitch. It had been hitchless. 

Well, the second one had, anyway. 

He felt himself leaning against Iolaus, who was still arguing with the women about the best way to get Gabrielle to the Amazons. Iolaus paused for a moment, caught off-guard, then slid an arm around his shoulders, the one that wasn't strapped to his chest in a sling. Iolaus had finally let Sileia stitch up the cut in his left arm, but he could still put it to use. 

"They're right," Autolycus said, closing his eyes. "We should split up." 

"But--" 

"No buts," Agamede said. "You're outvoted." 

Autolycus had to smile. "That whole protect-the-women thing is very cute, really, but trust me. Ags, at least, can take care of herself." 

"And Leia knows everyone," Agamede added. "She's like that." 

Autolycus cracked one eye open. "Oh yeah, she's very social." 

Sileia rolled her eyes. Again. 

"And don't call me Ags." 

"You know you love it." 

"I _despise_ it." 

Iolaus shifted slightly. "Still, I'm not sure--" 

Autolycus turned his head to the side. His lips, as luck would have it, were exactly level with Iolaus' ear. "I can think of better ways to pass the time than playing chaperone," he said under his breath. "Unless you're into that kind of thing." 

Iolaus's arm tightened automatically around his shoulders. "I'm convinced," he announced, a little too quickly. 

I could actually... really like this guy, Autolycus thought, leaning in even closer. Scary idea. I should be running right about now... so why aren't I? 

He sighed. The whole responsibility thing was a real bitch. 

At least Iolaus didn't seem like the time to want to settle down. 

Sileia stood abruptly and brushed off her dusty skirt. "We should get started," she said. "Now that that's settled." 

Agamede looked bewildered. "But it's the middle of the night--" 

Sileia nudged her with her boot. Agamede sprang up. "Oops. Right. Time to go. Sun'll be up soon." 

Yeah, in a few hours, Autolycus thought, suppressing a smirk. Whatever else could be said about the girls, they certainly weren't very subtle. But if they wanted to leave him and Iolaus alone, that was perfectly all right with him. 

He felt Iolaus turn, then, and thought he heard the other man murmur, "Sorry." Autolycus looked at him suspiciously. Sorry for what? 

The comment, he realized a moment later, was directed not at him but at Agamede, and as he watched in growing confusion, she shrugged with forced casualness. "'Sokay. You had your reasons. I would've felt the same way." 

"Excuse me," Autolycus said. "Um. Did I miss something important?" 

"Yes," Iolaus and Agamede. 

No further explanation was forthcoming, and he subsided with a grumbled complaint about annoying teenagers and irritating thieves. 

The two women picked up their respective packs and each took one end of the litter, lifting the sleeping Gabrielle easily into the air. "Let's go," Sileia said. 

Agamede nooded at the still-seated men. "Later, guys." 

Then they were gone. 

"Finally," Autolycus said. "Now we can have some fun. What?" 

Iolaus was shaking-- laughing, he realized a moment later. 

"What?" he repeated, annoyed. 

"I don't believe you. All that about them being able to take care of themselves was just a ploy to get us alone, wasn't it?" 

"Hey, everything I said was true," Autolycus pointed out, pretending to be affronted. "They're two very capable women, and they don't need us along to take care of them." Then he grinned. "Granted, I _was_ getting a little sick of their constant presence. And getting you into my hands was certainly an added bonus." 

"Me in your hands?" He could hear Iolaus's grin. "Looks to me like it's the other way around, buddy." 

"Yeah, well--" Autolycus interrupted himself with a yawn. "Fuck. It's been a long day." 

"It's been a long three days," Iolaus pointed out. 

"That too." 

As if on cue, they both laid back, stretching out on their bedrolls. Iolaus sighed deeply. 

"It's been a long ten years." 

"Huh?" Autolycus gave him a blank look. 

"Nothing." Iolaus hesitated. "Look, I understand if you don't want to talk about it-- what you went through and all, but--" 

"I don't," Autolycus said, with a flat note of finality in his voice. 

"Yeah. Well, if you ever do, I'll listen." 

"I won't." 

"If you _do_," Iolaus said, in a voice that dared him to contradict again, "I'm here." 

"Sure," Autolycus said. "So why did you go east, anyway?" 

"Huh?" 

"That's what you were talking about, right? The long ten years. Why'd you go?" 

There was a moment of silence, and he started to think he wasn't going to get an answer. Then, in a low, emotionless voice, Iolaus said, "I woke up one morning and I killed someone. She turned out to be just a kid. And I realized I didn't much like the way my life was going. So I left." 

Autolycus was quiet for a moment, his muscles tensed. "Well," he said finally. "Well, that-- that'll certainly do it." 

"And she wasn't the first person I'd killed, either. I'd been designated assassin for my gang of thieves for quite a few years. Ever since I was a teenager." 

"That--" Autolycus hesitated. "Um. So why'd you kill the kid?" 

"She saw me kill someone else." 

"Oh. Well--" 

Iolaus sighed. "I didn't know how old she was, or that she was a she. She was just someone in the shadows watching. So I throw a knife at her, and when I go back to get it, there she is-- not even ten years old, and dead because of me." 

"Oh." 

"It turned out she was the daughter of someone important," Iolaus continued, sounding far away. "So I figured I should leave. Yeah, it's a long way to run from the law, but I wasn't really thinking clearly. Or maybe I was and I knew that was the best place for me. Either way, I stowed away on a boat, ended up in the east, and then while I was there I found my way to these-- these guys. Monks. And I got some answers." 

"Did you?" 

"Some," Iolaus said. "Not all. I didn't like the way things were going there either-- I guess there's a danger to knowing yourself too well. You kind of have to be comfortable with who you are. I don't-- I don't really think I am." 

Autolycus turned his head to the side and stared at Iolaus's face, deceptively peaceful and remote in the flickering firelight, staring up at the stars. He looked almost like a ghost, one that would disappear if anyone got too close. Autolycus reached out and lightly touched his hair, somehow annoyed with the idea, intent on proving that Iolaus was still one of them. One of the living. 

He didn't vanish, and to Autolycus, the world seemed a little bit more right for it. 

"So do you still feel like there's a part of you missing?" 

Iolaus turned and met his gaze, blue eyes luminous in the low light. He seemed to be searching for the right words to use. 

"Yeah," he said finally. "A little. But a little less, now." 

Autolycus felt his mouth twitch in a kind of half-smile. "You don't have to soften it up for me, you know. I'm not trying to be your soul mate, or the love of your life, or anything. I just thought--" 

"I'm not softening anything," Iolaus said. "It's true, that's how I feel. I mean, I don't know what it means, but-- well, that's it. That's how it is." 

"Oh," Autolycus said. Then, "_Oh_." 

Iolaus smiled a little. "What did you think?" 

"Huh? Oh, well, I just thought-- I thought we could have some fun together, you know?" 

"That," Iolaus said, "we can definitely do." 

"But nothing has to come of it, is what I'm saying, right?" He wasn't sure if that was what he wanted, or if it was the remnants of his instinct for self-preservation leaving him a way out. "It doesn't have to mean anything. Just two people having--" 

"Fun, exactly. Whatever happens, happens. No expectations." 

"If that's what you want to do, of course." 

Iolaus's eyebrows shot up. "If? Look, Auto, I threatened a god for you. You think I do that for someone I'm gonna kick out of my bedroll?" 

Autolycus grinned. "I certainly hope not." 

"Damn straight." 

"I'm just... not very good with relationships." 

"Neither am I." 

"As long as we understand each other." 

"Oh," Iolaus said, "I think we do." 

"Good." 

Silence. 

"How's that wrist of yours?" 

"Oh, I can barely feel it." 

"Oh, good." 

"Are we just gonna talk all night?" 

And then a longer, far more intense silence, as the night wore on and all talking ceased. 

* * *

Later on, as they were making their way through the forest outside Corinth, Autolycus was thinking. 

Iolaus hadn't pressed him to talk about the crucifixion, other than offering to listen if he wanted to, and Autolycus was grateful for that. He was trying to forget it. It didn't matter anymore. Hermes had healed him, however grudgingly; he didn't even have any scars. 

Even so, every time he closed his eyes, he felt it happen again. 

It had been like having his soul destroyed. Everything that made Autolycus who he was had been devastated in just the few seconds it took to shatter the bones in his hands. He'd never thought of himself as being particularly fragile, but now he knew that everything in life was precarious. It didn't pay to get too comfortable. 

And things could never be the same again. Because even though he was healed, Tiro was still dead because of him. He was a thief and a murderer, now. He'd taken a life. 

And then there was Gabrielle. 

The nightmares of his crucifixion that still plagued him couldn't compare to knowing that he'd caused someone else to go through the same thing. Someone who didn't have a god on hand to heal her up afterwards. Someone who had been doing her best to make the world a better place, instead of just grabbing what she could in life and leaving everyone else to look after themselves. 

Stupid but noble. And if that was how you got your kicks, well.... 

I _hate_ having a conscience, he thought bitterly; and warped though it might be, it looked as though he were starting to develop one. And it made everything so much more complicated than it needed to be. 

Forget it, he told himself. Let it go. You're still the King of Thieves, after all, you stole something from the Conqueror and that's as good as it gets. This is just a minor setback. 

He wasn't so sure. 

He stumbled, then, and caught Iolaus's waist to steady himself. 

"What, again?" Iolaus said, turning with smirk. "Already?" 

"Get used to it," Autolycus said with an answering grin, deciding immediately that it sounded like a wonderful idea. 

Even if his life seemed to be going in a direction he didn't much like, one good thing, at least, had come out of the whole fiasco. Maybe having a partner wouldn't be so bad after all. At least he had someone along to keep him off the straight and narrow, and to have some serious fun with along the way. Someone he could maybe, possibly, love? 

No, Autolycus decided, as he backed Iolaus up against a handy tree and leaned in for a long, intense kiss. He'd tried the love thing before, and honor and obey as well, and it hadn't worked out. It was too sappy, not to mention far too dangerous. The rest would be enough. 

It had to be. 

T H E E N D 

_So, hey, what d'you think? There's room for a sequel, but I don't know if I'll ever get around to writing it. File that one under Maybe But Probably Not. _

The official title picture for this story can be found at panthea.populli.net / images / halfalife.jpg (remove spaces). 


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